A Scripted Love
by Scripted
Summary: An Albumfic for the album "The Script" by The Script.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: REAL, FINISHED VERSION IS ON FICTIONPRESS (under the same name, and I have the same username on here)  
Thanks you for clicking here though!  
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**Before The Worst  
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Her: You. Are unbelievable.

Him: I'M unbelievable! This is just so typical of you-

Her: Everything is always typical of me; everything that goes wrong is always-

Him: Oh so you think this is MY fault now!

Her: You know what? I just don't care anymore!

Him: And what is that supposed to mean?

Her: You heard me! I don't care anymore! I've had enough! I'm done here! I'm finished with you, and this house, and you can take _this_ back!

Him: You're being completely ridiculous…

Her: Am I? How long exactly did you think I could take all this _shit_? I've had enough. I'm going to London. Jenny'll be back for my stuff in a couple of days. Don't get in her way.

Him: Fine! Leave! Run away from everything again! Sure! Just make me the villain; leave me to deal with all the shit you leave behind! Why don't you just face up to your own responsibilities for once? Oh, and don't worry, I won't get in _precious _Jenny's way. I try to avoid the alcoholic cow if I can anyway!

Owen slammed the door with such rage that it seemed to shake the house itself, blocking out any retort sent his way from the girl currently trying to get as far away from the building as possible. Fuming, he made his way to the kitchen, with thoughts of absolute anger filling his head – more things he would very much like to say to her, things he should have said before, but hadn't thought of at the time.

"Damn, where did she put them?" He hissed, slamming draws and cupboards before finally picking up the small cardboard box and withdrawing a slender cigarette from inside. Snatching the lighter from a nearby table, he made his way to the dark living room before taking a deep, relieving breath and flopping down on the sofa, filling the previously clean air with pale tobacco smoke.

It took him about a minute or so more for his thoughts to come back down to a comprehensible level, and a further moment had passed before he began to realise that his palm was being dug into – rather hard. Opening up his tight fist, he saw, by the dim light of the lamppost shining through the half-open curtains, the light gold that shone with the angry sweat from his palm. And, as he moved his head closer to the light, he saw the small diamond twinkle innocently back at him. Lowering the cigarette, he flipped the ring over with his fingers so as to catch the light better.

It seemed so long ago that he was in the jewellery shop, frantically trying to pick the perfect ring. The one that could say exactly how he felt; the words he could never seem to be able to say to her, though he wanted to so badly. He had examined what seemed to be hundreds of rings, big, small, gold, silver, ranging from the reasonably priced, to the outrageously expensive – yet none of them had that perfect _feel _to them. Until, right when he had thought he had given up hope, he spotted this one. Although it pretty plain, and – unlike some of the others – the diamond that sat upon the top was not the size of his fist, he knew this was the one. Somehow it just seemed to reflect everything he had ever wanted to say to her, how beautiful she was, how much he appreciated her presence – even when they didn't talk, how he loved when she made him laugh, and the sound of hers. And how he could think of nothing more perfect than spending the rest of his life with her, and waiting to grow old with her by his side.

He remembered staying up until the early hours of every day, trying to figure out exactly what to say, the words that would make her agree to turning him into the happiest man on earth. He had planned what he had thought to be the perfect engagement. He would take her out to dinner, followed by a romantic moonlit walk by the river; where he would find the ideal moment; leave her staring into the reflection of the pale moon in the water, before grabbing her attention - to have her turn around and see him on one knee, his heart on his sleeve, and ring in the box.

Well…that was the plan. Dinner had gone…well enough – if you don't mind waiting half an hour to be seated, followed by another half to be served, and then finding out that a even bowl of soup did not cost as little as you initially thought it did. However, they had had a great time – laughing, joking, and Owen constantly going over what he was planning to say in his mind. Making sure he knew exactly what he was going to say, when he was going to say it and how exactly he would put his heart out to her. But, in all the hours of planning the perfect proposal, he had forgotten one crucial point that could affect the whole thing – the weather. And he had found out the hard way of how much it could affect a plan.

Owen had noticed the threatening clouds hanging over them during the taxi drive, and had spent the whole journey internally praying that they would somehow clear up before the end of the night. However, this time his prayers were not answered. They had only been 10 short minutes down the walk along the riverside when the heavens opened up with a full downpour. Soaked and laughing uncomfortably, he took off his leather jacket and used it as a small, pretty unreliable, cover until they found shelter under a concrete block protruding from the first floor of a group of apartments. He remembered how he had then suddenly panicked, and realised that his jacket pocket had in fact acquired a hole in it. He could remember frantically digging his hand thoroughly into every pocket, trying to make sure that the small box was still there – without drawing too much attention to himself. He finally found it, but his relief was short-lived, as he certainly did not manage the latter part of his new plan. For, once found, the box had flung out of the pocket and rolled onto the wet ground…to land right in front of her feet.

Blushing furiously, he saw that he could do nothing more than pick up the box, and propose to her there and then. And, on the twenty-second of November, at quarter to midnight, in the middle of an empty street in the pouring rain – he had become the happiest man on earth.

Owen reached for the ashtray to deposit the grey ash building up at the end of the cigarette. With a slow sigh, he stood up and walked across the room to the small desk lamp, so as to light up the place properly. He flicked the switch, still looking at the ring, thinking deeply. The light flickered, catching Owen's attention, and then stabilised – bathing a small photo frame with a memorable picture in a yellow glow. Owen gazed at the photo, more memories flooding his mind. It was a simple picture, just of him, some friends and her on a night out together.

This snapshot was taken near the beginning of the night – he remembered that. They had all decided to celebrate the end of the working week by getting together as a group and going out. A couple of hours into the night however, Owen remembered making his way outside, beer in his hand and a cigarette on his mind. But all mumbled curses of the smoking ban went out of his head when he saw her thin figure sitting against the wall, on her own. Wondering how he couldn't have noticed her missing beforehand, he made his way over to her side. He had only briefly known her, but had always seen her in the centre of things, laughing, joking and generally having a good time – so to see her so withdrawn from everyone made him curious, and slightly worried, as to why she would chose to separate herself so.

She had looked up when he had set his pint on the floor and sat down on the cold January ground beside her. He remembered her telling him she had just wanted some peace and quiet for a while – and had brought herself outside to get away from the loud music and talk, that only a pub could bring, and to get some fresh air. Assuming that she would prefer to be left alone, Owen had made to stand up and make his way inside, but she had quickly held out her arm as a barrier, and quietly requested him to stay.

Although he had only known her but a few months, he found that the time spent with her outside, on the cold, hard ground, was one of the most comfortable he had had in a very long time. She was easy to talk to, and sincere in her words. There must have been something in the air that night – or perhaps she just felt the same way about him – but she seemed to be able to _say_ so much to him, and he found himself doing the same back. In the few short hours that they spent outside together, he had learned more about her than he suspected half the people inside knew, and had told her more about himself than he had to people he had known for years.

Somehow he found it one of the easiest things in the world to sit there and listen to her thoughts, the real reason why she had sat outside, and could remember realising how doing nothing more than just being a shoulder to cry on could do so much. It turned out that she was suffering from some heartache, caused mainly by a man who seemed to be guiltlessly abusing the power he had over her heart. He had listened, offered advice, dried her tears and did his best to make her smile – before finding himself in the place that she had been just an hour before. Somehow he seemed to be telling her of personal thoughts and feelings he hadn't been able to tell anyone but his closest friends, and before he knew it, she was listening, offering advice and making him laugh.

He recalled just finishing off telling her about his messy, hurtful and extremely recent break-up laughing at a joke that she had made about the situation. He could remember looking up at her at that moment, only to meet with her soft blue eyes. And at that moment, the laughter on his face seemed to die down, and she seemed to reflect this back at him. He had no idea how long they sat in silence, but he could remember that in that minute, hour, or perhaps even day that they sat there, he seemed to see her more clearly than he had seen anyone in such a long time. He had sat there, doing nothing but taking in every aspect of her appearance; her pale skin that glowed in the light streaming from the pub windows; the way her hair brushed lightly over her eyes; and her pale lips, which sat extremely still compared to the hours of talking that they had been used for but a very short time before.

He didn't know what made him do it, sheer impulse – or the heat of the moment perhaps, but once she broke the gaze and began to turn her head away from his eyes, she seemed to pull a string connected to his heart, and it tugged – hard. And, without even a thought of doing so, his hand reached up to touch her face. He brought her head up to face his eyes once more, and, in what felt like slow motion, he leaned in and he kissed her.

Ever since then they had been inseparable, Owen couldn't believe how close he could get to the girl he was dating. Sometimes they could stay for hours into the night, by each other's sides or even just talking for hours on the phone. When he was with her, she made him feel like the whole world was by his feet, just waiting for him. With her every moment of joy seemed accelerated, and the pain seemed so much less that he had first thought of it. Even the pain and any heartache he felt seemed to be fuel for them both, learning to support each other through all times.

But then… One thing lead to another, and here he was, standing in an empty house, looking out of the dark window for the girl who had left the house with nothing but a suitcase in her hand, his heart packed tightly inside.

He looked down at small remainder of the cigarette in his hand, thinking. The ring in his other clenched hand pressed against his palm. The small pain that it gave him was so little compared to what it represented. He felt so stupid, they had had so much to gain, so many plans ahead – and he was just letting them run away in the suitcase of the girl he had always said he cared so much about.

Owen stared at the corner where he had last seen her disappear… What was he still doing here? If they had had so much to gain – then surely the only thing stopping that right now was himself, right?

He turned his back on the window and put the last bit of the cigarette in the ashtray. He no longer cared what he had said before, whose fault it was, or what they were even fighting about. Because he knew now what was really worth fighting for. He was going to get her back. No matter what he had to do.

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**_Disclaimer:_**

**_I do not own The Script, their album or [sadly] any of their lyrics. I am just another fan that has been inspired._**


	2. Chapter 2

**Talk You Down**

Owen grabbed a set of keys from a small bowl on the mantle and wrenched the front door open. Without even stopping to lock the door, he made his way to the car parked in the quiet driveway. Impatiently fiddling with the keys in the dark, trying to find the right one without dropping them, he tried to go through all the places she could be. She had said London…but he doubted, or rather prayed that she wouldn't go there straight away. Heart pounding in his ears, he finally found the right key and pulled the car door open, swinging himself quickly inside and putting the correct key in the ignition – before realising that he actually had little clue of where to go first.

He stared blankly ahead, cursing his thoughts for moving too fast to let him grasp hold of one and understand it. One name of a place, or a person, would come flying into his mind; but just as he was about to grab it, analyse it, and think about the logic of it, another name would fly in and kick it out of the way. After about a moment or so, he decided to try one thing before setting off to where he hoped his heart would lead him best. Owen dug into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone, pressing it to his ear once he had found her number in the middle of the recent calls.

Never had a busy tone sounded more frustrating.

Owen hung up and threw the phone onto the seat beside him. Well – she had her phone on; he knew that – he'd have to try to get through later. He _had_ to get through – even if she didn't want to talk to him. Even if he had to physically grab her and refuse to let her go until she heard him out. He couldn't, he _wouldn't_, let her slip away from him.

Determination pumped through his heart, running along his veins, into his brain and into his mind. He turned the key and his other hand flew to the stick shift, pulling it back with unintentional force. He had little idea of where he was going – but that's what he had been like the night he kissed her…and his heart had lead him in the right direction then. Surely it could do it just once more?

Reversing with speed prioritised over safety, he frantically checked his mirrors, twisting around to see outside the other windows – yearning to see her figure emerge around the corner, running towards him with tears in her eyes and forgiveness in her heart. But all his eyes could see was the dark road, and the parts of the pavement that were dimly lit up by the old lamppost on the corner.

Streetlights streaked past the window as he saw the dial on the speedometer rise up at an unnatural pace, but yet he still pressed harder on the pedal. He caught sight of the time on the lit up car display…was it three am already? How long had they been arguing for? He was sure they started at around midnight…or was it one? Or one thirty? Even so, far too much time was spent shouting about unimportant things at the woman he supposedly loved. How could he be so stupid and not see this coming? He couldn't expect her to just accept everything he threw at her and still be the loving fiancé. But now, he thought - as the small ring in his right hand pressed against his palm - he had to show her that he loved her, even if it took all night to find her.

Senseless words from the radio mulled in the background as memories flooded his mind, with every building bringing more to his eyes. Their first date…the place he first realised that he loved her…the spot he first knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Owen sped up even more when he caught sight of the jewellers and the spot by the river that came shortly afterwards.

Half past three. Owen shook the wheel with frustration – couldn't this thing go any faster? He'd been driving around for half an hour and still no sight of her, perhaps if he just could speed up that little more he could do it; he could stop her slipping away from him. If he let her go…then so much would be lost. He had to find her, how much longer could it take?

Four am. How much time had he wasted thinking before going to find her? He had only had one cigarette, so it couldn't have been longer than about 10 minutes… How far could a taxi take her in that time? Unless, of course, she had gone a completely different direction to where he was going… He tried to shake that thought out of his head, he _had_ to be going the right way – negative thoughts were not going to do any good.

Half past four. Owen suddenly noticed the speed his car had reached, and the amount of petrol left in the tank. He loosened his foot that was on the pedal slightly as incomprehensible street signs and shop lights streaked past his window. Not that he cared so much as to the limit, for right now he felt that trying to save his relationship was more important than driving at a slow pace on a road where there was very little to crash into (all of which were static objects, as he was the only car on the road at 4:30am), but he figured that really, if he were to pass her at such a speed, would he really see her? Perhaps that is what had happened before…he had better go back.

Five am. He had to be getting closer. Owen's eyes darted around the streets as he drove through a red light. Still empty. Still no sight of her.

Half past five. Owen's heart skipped a beat as he saw the dark figure of a woman ahead of him. His hand shot to roll down the window as his foot pressed hard against the pedal to catch up with her. Heart in his throat, he called out her name with all the strength he could muster at this time in the morning. It seemed to be enough strength, as she turned around at the sound of his voice. He almost crashed the car when he saw the unfamiliar face of a woman that he had never met before, looking back at him with a mixture of confusion and slight fear of a man who was driving around at almost 6am appearing to be attempting to attract the attention of random girls.

Six am. Soft, pink light was starting to creep over the tops of buildings now, casting long shadows across the roads. The town was beginning to wake up now, but yet Owen's tired eyes were still out looking for the girl his heart was determined to find. He realised his concentration was starting to slip as he passed the same shop for the third time; it's windows now sparkling in the morning glow. Down an alleyway, a shortcut he had not noticed before…no, wait, this was the dead end that he had driven down an hour ago…

Half past six. It was getting harder to drive around the streets now. Not only was his concentration at an all time low, his eyes drooping, and his reactions rather slower than usual – but cars and vehicles were beginning to fill the streets now. He had had to slow his car down immensely so as to avoid hitting something, and he knew that his tiredness and lack of concentration were not the safest of conditions to drive in. Just a little bit more time…he was sure that was all he needed…just a little bit longer…

Seven am came, bright and warm, before Owen's car rolled defeated into his driveway. He spent a moment clinging to his last hopes, yet knowing in his mind that there wasn't much left, and tried calling her mobile once more. Straight to the answering machine - just as it had been three hours before. Slowly clambering out, his eyes squinted in the bright morning light that now bathed the streets; he closed the car door weakly and made his way to the entrance of their house. Not even needing to unlock it, he pushed the door open and made his way inside, closing the door on the world that had failed him so much that night.

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**AN: Just like to give a HUGE thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, and a bigger thanks to those who have reviewed. Yes, this is only my second chapter - but for me it's very important to show appreciation to the people that you...appreciate. Reviews are really the thing that keep me going, so thank you so much for your support.  
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**Right...Now onto the actual chapter notes. I know this one is much shorter than the previous, and whilst some may thank me for that, I would just like to say this is due to the fact that Before The Worst contains so much beautiful imagery to work with...whilst Talk You Down is centred around the guy driving a car at 3am... Really I didn't want to bore you and drag on - as there is only so many times you can say "He was driving a car. He was determined to find her. He drove some more. He really wanted to find her". :L**

**But it seems like I'm boring you in my notes...gotta stop that. **

**Thanks again for the love and don't forget to review! xxx**

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**_Disclaimer:_**

**_I do not own The Script, their album or [sadly] any of their lyrics. I am just another fan that has been inspired._**


	3. Chapter 3

**If You See Kay**

"Not at all? Not even…

…And you're absolutely sure about that?…

…Right, okay…

Well, if you see her, could you just…just tell her that I love her okay?"

Owen put the phone down and buried his head in his hands, his tired eyes closed against the dry skin.

'_Where could she be?!'_ He thought furiously, the balls of his hands pressing tightly against his eyes, '_it's only a small town…how could someone have not, at least, __**seen**__ her?!'_ He had tried everyone that he could think of to call: her friends, her parents, her colleagues, random people whom she had not talked to for years…yet _no one_ had seem to have even seen her since last night.

Bright spots started to appear in front of his closed eyes as he pressed on them with frustration. Less than 24 hours…how far could she had gone in that time? She just couldn't have gone to London, he refused to believe it. For one thing, he knew that her job, her friends and her life were here. And for another…he knew that if she was in London – he would have completely wasted last night, and the hours spent calling everyone he knew (and barely knew) and that the hopes in finding her would be too slim to take hold of. Owen refused to let himself believe that.

With a deep sigh he loosened the pressure on his eyes and let his hands reach for the phone again. He was in the middle of dialling the number to connect him to her sister, whom she hated with a passion, when the sound of the doorbell stabbed through his tired ears and head.

Owen jumped up instantly, his tiredness vanishing and heart racing as he ran to the door with excitement, mind exploding with anticipation as he looked at the wooden door. He knew it! She had come back! He knew that she _had_ to return, that she _did_ know how much he loved her and needed her – even though he had recently forgotten to say this to her face. He could feel it, right in his very bones, that she was right there, on the other side of the old door, just waiting for him to open it. He quickly glanced in the mirror on the hallway wall to check his appearance, trying to somehow make the dark shadows under his eyes seem less apparent…he should have shaved too…and changed…

He tore his eyes away from the mirror, it didn't matter – what mattered is that she was back, and, that now he had finally stopped to listen to his heart, he would treat her like a wonderful woman, the way she deserved. Things could go back to the way they were, before all the fights and arguments and broken hearts and tears shared with everyone else but each other.

They could go back to being like the two people who sat on the cold, January ground on their own all those years ago. When the fact that they had little when it came to money, jobs and possessions didn't bother them – as they knew that they had each other. Silly, perhaps – but it worked for them. It kept them strong.

Owen checked himself in the mirror one last time before wrenching the door open, beaming like a young child on Christmas morning, who had waited so patiently all year for this day, and had woken up hours early so he could soak up as much of everything it had to offer as possible…no more waiting, she was back…

"Oh."

It is logic that tells you that the larger and more solid something is, the harder it is – and the more time it takes – for it to break or be destroyed. So why is it, that when hope is built up so strongly that it bursts from your heart, and you can almost feel it flow through every vein in your body; so solidly that it refuses to move itself from your mind; and to be so large that it takes over your very soul; does it only take a second to shatter in front of your very eyes; drain from every inch of your body, and leave a gaping hole where it once was? And yet, unlike when something strong and large breaks, it doesn't even make a sound. Some people spend their whole life building around logic, never stopping in learning, teaching and using it in every second of their day. However, sometimes it fails to teach you the aspects that can really affect our lives.

"Told you he'd be happy to see us!"

"Oh yes, because that sure looks like the face of extreme joy to me."

"I didn't say _extreme joy_, I said _happy_…"

But Owen had already turned his back on the two men and was making his way back to the kitchen, leaving the front door loosely open for them to step through.

"Oi! Owen! Aren't you going to invite us in or something? No wonder Kay hasn't returned…you wouldn't even let her in if she – OW! What?"

"Do you ever _think_ before you talk or does it just pass that filter that most people have?"

"…Too soon?"

"Only slightly."

The two voices wafted into the room as the men walked through the open door and into the brightly lit kitchen, the taller of the two rubbing his left arm and mumbling under his breath.

"Well, I thought it was funny." He said, making his way to the counters at the side of the room.

"You would…"

"Hey! I-" But James cut his retort short when he caught sight of the glare sent his way from Liam.

"The point is," said Liam, flopping down into a chair by Owen's side – reaching out to the phone on the table that his friend was currently attached to, "that you haven't spoken to anyone apart from a quick, and extremely desperate, 'Hello. Have you seen Kay?'"

"As if we would have at 3 o'clock in the m-"

"And your phone has been busy for the last 2 and a half hours straight." He finished, pressing the small button on the holder to cut the line.

"Hey! I was in the middle of a phone call there!" Owen snapped angrily, finally looking up and reaching for the keypad again.

"Hello to you too." Liam replied calmly, placing his hands over the keys as to restrict Owen's hand.

"Piss off Liam." Snarled Owen, trying - weakly - to push his hand away so that he could call her.

"Mate, did you sleep at all last night? You can't have spent all night calling people…" James said, noticing the dark shadows that hung from his friend's tired and bloodshot eyes, and the cigarette packets that were strewn on the clean table that he hoped Owen hasn't spent all night at.

"'Course I didn't spend all night calling, how pathetic do you think I am?" Owen said, letting his hand drop and looking at his friend by the counter, eyes stinging against the light shining in from the window behind him.

"Well I know you can be a pretty determined guy when you want to be." He replied, studying his friend's face harder. The unshaven jaw, the stress lines, the hair sticking up at odd ends where he had run his hands through it…he hadn't seen his friend look so defeated before – and he couldn't understand how it had only taken less than 12 short hours to beat him so.

"Okay, so if you weren't calling all night, exactly what time did you start reading the phonebook?" Liam said, sitting up, but still not taking his hand off the keypad, and resting his eyes on Owen's face.

Owen turned away from the light streaming in through the window and looked at the general direction of his friend – his vision slightly tainted by the print left by the sunlight. "I don't know…half eight?" He said, lifting his left arm to rub his eyes, both so that he could see and so that to attempt to lightly scratch the tiredness out of them.

"So," Liam began, "just hold on… You're expecting me to believe, that Owen Broning; the man who waited in the rain for an hour and a half, whilst his girlfriend was inside some building for an interview – even though there was a supermarket only five blocks away, where he could have bought an umbrella, but didn't want to leave the spot, _in case he missed her coming out_; the man who took off multiple sick days to look after his unwell girlfriend – meaning that he had to go into work the day he was _actually _sick, despite the fact that he had gotten about fifteen minutes sleep the night before, because he had to constantly wake up, so as to throw up whatever crap he had eaten during the day; the man who spent _three weeks_ planning an proposal-"

"He gets the point Liam…"

"Right, yes, well my point is – I refuse to believe you telling us that she left before 3am, and yet you only start looking for her at eight thirty."

"Don't be stupid," he replied, "you think I would sit around for more than five hours whilst my fiancé walks out to…" He began, mind starting to panic again over the situation, "to…who knows where?!" He finished, lunging for the unmanned phone once more so as to continue trying. This time, he was too fast for Liam, who hadn't expected the move, and had jumped to grab the phone a second too late.

"Hello, is that Sophie? This is Owen, yes Owen…Kay's…fiancé…yes…well I was just wondering-"

James was the one to grab the phone this time, pulling it away from his friend's ear and slamming it down on the holder. "Sophie? The sister that Kay never missed an opportunity to express her hatred towards? You really think SHE would know where she is?" He said pressingly, turning to look Owen in the eye.

"Perhaps! She…maybe…I don't know…" Owen replied, tearing his eyes away from his friend, not wanting to look directly into them.

"Right…" Liam said, sensing that a hasty change of subject was needed. "Well if you didn't start calling people until about half eight, but didn't just sit around from when she walked out…then what did you do?"

Owen turned his head to look out the window, not caring about the light this time, "I went after her, drove around…everywhere…for a couple of hours."

"And did you find her?"

Liam stared in disbelief at James, wondering how someone of average intelligence could be so simple sometimes before he let out a small "Oh…" of realisation.

"I…I don't know…" Owen said, turning away from the window and looking back in the direction of his friend sitting by the table. "Perhaps…I don't know…" He said, running his left hand through his hair. "Maybe I wasted too much time thinking beforehand or something…or started driving in the wrong direction…or…" His hand dropped, voice fading away as he slipped into thought.

"You know, sometimes people just need space, to…sort out their thoughts and such." Said Liam, breaking the silence before it spanned out any further.

"Yeh, you were having pretty bad arguments lately – maybe she just needed some time alone." James picked up, grateful that the silence had been broken. "She'll be back, just give her time. It's sorta happened before anyway, hasn't it? I mean las-"

"This is different." Owen said, looking up.

"No, he's right – last time she came right back, given a day or so, what should make it so different this time?" Said Liam reassuringly, shaking his head, but not talking his eyes off of his friend.

"It's…she…because…" Owen began, before his voice decided to give up on him - blocked by the heart that had just entered his throat. He looked down at his right fist, which has been closed this whole time, and watched the knuckles turn white for a moment before turning it over and loosening it to open.

"Oh."

The three men stared at the ring, which glinted in the sunlight and was surrounded by the red marks where it had dug into Owen's hand, as silence fell between them once more. The silence laid heavily in the room as each man thought quietly and uncomfortably to themselves, before -

"…Are her fingers really that fat? I mean that is one huge…what?"

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Owen quietly moaned as his heavy eyes opened for the fifth time that night. He couldn't sleep, his mind wouldn't let him, though his body and eyes wanted to do so badly. And when he did momentarily manage to wrestle his mind into quieting down for a second, so that he could drift off, he was disturbed by confusing dreams, slipping in and out of one another before consciousness grabbed him forcefully once more. Realising that burying his head into his pillow did nothing but restrict his breathing, he turned over for a second before groggily lifting himself upright, his feet slipping off the edge of the bed and touching the cold wood that covered the bedroom floor.

Owen turned his head to glance behind him once more, leaving him with the image of an empty double bed, cold in parts where the oddly twisted sheets no longer covered the mattress, imprinted in his mind. He didn't know what he was expecting to see, the figure of her body laying there, rising and falling slowly with her soft breathing? Even though he knew it was impossible, there was still some part of him that wished this had all been a terrible dream, and that he would soon wake up to the sounds of her shouting at him through the walls from the next room.

He sighed and stood upright, deciding that really it was hopeless trying to get to sleep now, and that he might as well get a drink whilst he was prepared to do so.

Trying his hardest not to slip in the dark, Owen cautiously made his way down the stairs. He passed the silent living room, lit dimly by the orange glow of the lamppost seeping in through the curtains, and made his way into the dark kitchen, lit by the glow that bounced off the living room walls. Momentarily he looked at the phone on the table, ring still sitting beside it from when his friends thought it would be best to move him elsewhere – insisting that having the ring in his sight was unhealthy for him.

He smiled slightly, knowing how this was half an excuse just to get him out of the house, ("Not to the pub, honest! Well, maybe just a quick visit, but nothing more…!" ), but he had refused to do so, in fear that she would return in the time that he was away.

He contemplated for a second whether to start calling people again, and was almost about to, before catching sight of the clock on the wall. He didn't imagine people would be happy if he called them at 2am, trying to find out if they had seen a girl that they probably hadn't heard from for 10 years or so…

Owen stared out of the dark window as he placed a glass under the tap at the sink, listening to the rain beat against the panes. Liam had said something about the rain beforehand…

And then the idea hit him. Owen lowered the glass from his lips and placed it with a small _tap_ on the counter, thinking hard. _'Liam was right'_, he thought as he watched the raindrops roll down the window, _'since when do I just sit back and give up like this?'_ He _had_ refused to go into work when she was ill, despite her constant insisting that he do so; and he _had_ waited an hour and a half for her in the rain when she was in an interview that one time. _'Waited…'_ that was it…

There was one thing though, he knew that waiting in the house would do no good at all - it would actually make no difference to what he was doing now, what he had to do was tell her that he loved her, and that he wanted her back more than anything else right now. But he knew that it would be hard to get her to willingly listen, and that he would somehow have to show her instead…

He looked at his tired reflection in the window as the rain ran down the glass. If he had done it once before, then why couldn't he do it again? But this time it would have to be on a bigger scale; and would take much, much longer.

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**AN: Before I start, I know I leave massive AN essays - so if it's too much to read please feel free to ignore them for now on. This one's just focused on the choosing of the type of people James and Liam are [for those wondering about that].**

**For those of you wondering about the...er... familiarity of the characters - I can explain. This story definitely needed a bit of speech and comic relief, and also Owen could not go on this alone - so friends were needed. The fact that he has 2 friends is because that's the number I work best with - as 3 is the highest number I can juggle and still keep good control of. Then I obviously needed one character for some lovely comic relief [as this story does need it], but I also needed a character that was calm and such, to help keep the plot going - and straighten out a couple of things. Then Liam and James just sort of grew into the type of people they are. So...yeh, that's it explained to all those who were wondering :]**

**Anywho, as always - thank you very much to all those who have stuck by and read up to this bit! This story wouldn't be here without you. Don't forget to leave some love/constructive criticism and review! x Thank you!**

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**_Disclaimer:_**

**_I do not own The Script, their album or [sadly] any of their lyrics. I am just another fan that has been inspired._**


	4. Chapter 4

**The Man Who Can't Be Moved**

Owen looked up as he watched the uniformed figure making his way towards him.

"'Scuse me, do you have a license for that?"

"Since when do you need a licence to wait for someone?" Owen shot back, irritably.

"Well, wait somewhere else, you can't stay there." Said the policeman, stopping directly in front of him.

"This is the only place she'll meet me. So I can't move anywhere else." Owen replied, straining his neck slightly so as to meet the man's eyes.

"Can't you call her to arrange to meet in another spot or something?" He asked, now getting slightly aggravated.

"You don't think I've tried that?!"

The policeman gave up with a turn and a motion of his hand as if to say 'whatever…' as he walked away from Owen's slouched form. But Owen barely cared, it was hardly as if anyone had complained about him, and besides – there weren't any laws against _waiting_. Okay, so this wasn't the ordinary five-to-ten minute wait for someone, '_but'_ Owen thought, pulling the sleeping bag around him tighter so as to shield him from the cold wind, '_this is more important than the normal wait'_.

Three days had passed since Owen had stood at the dark window of his home, watching the rain hit the panes as he formed his plan. Three days and he was sitting in the grey light of the cloud-covered street, watching the small raindrops form ripples on nearby puddles. Fifty six hours had found him in a very different place, and had changed his appearance rather dramatically – but those fifty six hours had done nothing to his heart but straighten it's determination and longing.

His plan was simple, though not exactly among the most logical of plans when trying to get a loved one back. But on that night he decided that this was the only thing he could do to reach that goal – or, at least, prove to her that he loved her. He had given up sleep at that moment and spent the hours till the sunlight reached over the tops of the buildings developing his thought, getting what he needed from cupboards and the attic, and going over the plan again and again.

When the time finally came, he grabbed his sleeping bag, a sheet of cardboard and the picture, which had sat on the small table, from the night that he and Kay had had their first kiss together. Then, ring securely in his shirt pocket, he set off to the place that his mind had set so firmly upon.

Shopkeepers and onlookers watched in puzzlement and curiosity as he set down his cardboard and his rolled-up sleeping bag on the pavement – his self following swiftly to sit down outside the café.

It was inside that very café that Owen had first set his eyes on Kay. Admittedly, it had not been one of those 'love-at-first-sight' moments, where he knew that she was the one just from a single glance. In fact, he had not actually said that much to her on that day.

It had been two days before Liam and his girlfriend, Demi's, two-year anniversary and he, James, Liam, Demi and her two friends had taken their lunch breaks to get together in the café, to plan how they would celebrate the memory. This proved to be a much harder task than first thought, as James and Owen were also aware of Liam's 'surprise proposal' secret – and they had to plan the whole evening around that – without letting on what they were doing. For that reason, Owen was far too preoccupied with his best friend and Demi to start making strong acquaintances with Liam's soon-to-be-fiancé's friends.

And, although he had said little to her that time, it was that day that they had met – and the plans on that day that, in the end, lead to so much more. Without that day, he would have never gone to the party; never held his breath as he watched his best friend get down on one knee and cheered as the woman he loved agree to spend the rest of her life with him. Without that day Liam and his fiancé would have never come to be so close that she came to almost every night that they went out together – occasionally bringing her friends, who then joined the group in their nights out. Without that, Owen would have never found himself making his way over to Kay's dark figure sitting by the wall on that Friday night – and without that they would have never poured their hearts out to each other and ended the night with a kiss in the cold January air. If that had never happened, he would have never found himself on the way home from his brother's funeral, his whole self –emotional and physical – in a wreck, to find Kay on her way to his house in thought of supporting him. They had then made their way over to sit outside a nearby pub, where she held him whilst he let his heart take over and wept silently by her side; and without that, he would have never looked up into her deep eyes at ten-past-one in the morning and realised – this was the girl that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Without that night, he would have never found himself in the pouring rain, asking her if she would agree to making him the happiest man alive, by agreeing to marry him. And without that night…he would have never found himself on the wet ground at 10am, sitting outside that very café to try and win her back.

Owen's prayers were that one day soon, just one moment would pass, when she may want to visit the café, so that she could remember how it all once was. And that one day, when she did come, she would find him, sitting there – waiting just to get her back.

Owen jumped as the ringing from his phone pierced the dull sound of the morning traffic. His body lunged forward to grab it, but stopped as he saw the name 'James' flash across the small screen. Sighing internally, he pressed the red button to cut the call yet again, and slowly lifted his body, heavy with disappointment, back to it's previous upright position.

He repeated this action, almost routinely, about twice every few hours – though the number of times it happened had deteriorated over the past two days. He didn't want to answer it, as he already knew what the call would consist of, and – frankly, he was too tired to go through the conversation again. He knew that the person on the other end was just going to tell him how stupid and senseless what he was doing was, and try to convince him to come back home – but every time, no matter whom it was calling, Owen would refuse point blank. He knew all too well that they were all correct in what they were saying, but he truly didn't know what else he could do.

A couple of them (James and Liam more specifically) had come to the spot where he sat on the very first day, the moment that they had heard of what Owen had done. They stood there, trying every trick in the book to get him to move – and to stop being so stupid. They had talked calmly – trying to talk sense into the man, shouted, bribed, blackmailed even threatened, but still Owen refused to leave the street corner. After five hours, the two extremely frustrated and worried men gave up and headed home – as they had other commitments in their lives apart from a friend that seemed to have traded his mind for a book of, 'ideas for trying to get your girlfriend back - but will only succeed in driving people who care about you up the wall'. However, Owen couldn't find it in his head to see sense and pack up, so as to head back home. It was as though his broken heart could no longer pump the sufficient amount of blood to his brain – leaving it numb and functioning poorly.

"Yeh. Just over there, by the traffic lights. Make sure you get them in the background."

Owen watched the news crew setting up their cameras on a nearby pavement, thinking faintly. This wasn't an important story that they were covering – nothing particularly interesting had happened around here lately…maybe…if he could grab their attention…

His mind went over the thought. If he could get their attention, tell them what he was doing…what would the chances be that they would do a small piece about him? It wasn't every day a well-off man sat down on a street corner to wait for his fiancé that had walked out on him… Not that he wanted fame, but what if she were to see him on the news…? She would know that it was all for her, and what an easy way to show her exactly what he was doing. Even if the irony of the term 'easy' was questionable for this situation. Would she come back to him? Would she realise what he was doing? Would she even pay enough attention to recognise him on the screen in front of her? Wherever she was…

But Owen's thoughts were interrupted by the twang of metal meeting concrete as a single coin bounced in front of him. "I'm _not_ asking for_ money_, I'm asking if – oh never mind…" The woman paid no attention to Owen's angry calls behind her – they never did. He hated them thinking him a beggar, for it clearly stated on his sheet of cardboard exactly why he was sitting there. He was not asking for spare change – he never in his life had asked for money, but he had come to realise over the past two days how wrapped up everyone was in their own lives, giving little attention to others whom they felt they had nothing to do with. _'But,' _thought Owen, as he pressed the button to hang up his phone whilst it vibrated on the ground again, _'maybe I'm not all that different'_.

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A week passed with little change, the only one being the weather, with the ground drying up, to getting damp, to so soaked that Owen was able to watch the tiny stream that had formed flow down the road, as cars and countless people passed him by. But still he had not seen her, and still he had not moved.

Not a day passed when Owen did not internally bless the fact that he had first met Kay at a café. He was kept alive each day by the kind waitress that came outside to hand him food and cups of hot coffee. He constantly promised to pay her back, but she refused – saying that she could not let him starve whilst he was waiting for his fiancé. She constantly insisted that he come inside, to shelter from the rain and the cold wind, but he refused – saying that he did not want to be a burden on the owners of the café; and besides, Owen wanted to make sure he caught her when the day came that she decided to visit the café. Never if, always _when_; he made sure of that.

It was on one such morning, when the rain had taken a pause and let the sun shine over the street, that Owen took a cup of coffee from the waitress, wrapping his hands around the hot mug so as to warm them, when he looked up – and his heart skipped a beat.

Forgetting the waitress was there, he jumped up – letting the mug fall to the ground with a crash, but he took no notice of the sound of it splintering as it hit the pavement. His mind was too focused on the figure exiting the shop across the street.

He stood still for a minute, as if he had forgotten what to do – though he had gone over this moment so many times in his head. It seemed that his body was not used to the sudden rush of blood, sent through his veins by his pounding heart. A moment passed before finally, _finally_, he re-gained control of his body with one single word from the throat that had not said anything for so long:

"**KAY!**"

He began to run forward as she turned around, stopping at the edge of the curb as he impatiently waited for cars to pass so that he could cross. So that he could run over and grab her, finally having her back after she had been so close to slipping away from him.

A small van passed, momentarily blocking his view of the street, but he caught sight of her figure making her way back towards the crossing that was situated in front of the entrance to the shop, once the van passed. He moaned impatiently as another car rushed passed him, followed by a lorry that completely obscured his view of the street.

However, when the end of the lorry finally came, and the buildings came into sight again, he saw that she was not making her way towards the crossing, but in fact to the shop entrance, where she put her arm out to hold the door open, before grabbing an arm and being embraced by the tall figure of an unfamiliar man.

Owen stood there, watching them turn their backs and walk away, his arm around her waist, as the hot coffee spread around the concrete and trickled slowly into the gutter below his feet.

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**AN: Eee...pressure to do well on this chapter, as it's their proper signature song, that people would have heard of. Hope I did it justice :]**

**Anywho, thanks so much for all those who have read this far!! Can't believe I'm on the 4th chapter and people are still taking time to read, and even the care to drop a review... Thanks so much!! x**

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**_Disclaimer:_**

**_I do not own The Script, their album or [sadly] any of their lyrics. I am just another fan that has been inspired._**


	5. Chapter 5

**Breakeven**

_When is it considered acceptable for a man to cry?_

_When physical injury reaches such a peak, that tears are the best temporary painkillers? Or when the injury isn't visible to the eye, and crying can be one of the only ways to let others know that it is serious, and needs urgent medical attention?_

_Well what about pain that is not physical, cannot be cured with antiseptics, nor monitored by a machine? How can one tell where the bar is, when the pain is so deep; that not only can the eye not see it – but only living through the same ordeal give you true empathy and understanding of what is going on. Letting him to allow the tears to flow – without a second of judgement passing by._

_What about Heartbreak?_

_Is that __considered an acceptable amount of pain for him to cry?_

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That day Owen collected his cardboard, picture and sleeping bag, silently forcing it into the case before lifting it off the dry ground, and handed over every piece of spare change he had to the café, before turning his back on it and heading home. He knew it wasn't nearly enough to pay back for all the waitress had given him, but it was all he had at the time – and he would be able to pay fully once he got home; despite the constant refusals from the girl. He just needed to feel that at least something, be it merely the food and coffee, had not gone to waste – at least for them.

He had gotten home, returned the sleeping bag to one of the cupboards, thrown the sheet of cardboard in the bin and placed the picture back on the small table that was situated in the living room. Three hours later found him still sitting on the sofa, looking fixedly ahead at the television, but not taking in anything that it had to offer.

Only one image kept playing in front of Owen's eyes. The image of _him_, his arm around her waist, as their backs moved away from Owen. It seemed to enjoy tormenting him, playing over and over again in his mind. But hard as he tried to turn his thoughts away from the memory, his body away from the scene – he could think of nothing else but what he had viewed that morning. And yet, even after all they had witnessed, all they had seen, all the physical pressure put on them in efforts to push the image out of his mind – his eyes remained as dry as they were that very morning, before any of it had taken place.

He didn't really know why his body couldn't bring itself to cry, though he was in no way making an effort to hold tears back. In a way, he wanted to just be able to sit down and do nothing but let the tears fall. Perhaps, that way, he could be able to let go and release some of that feeling that was seeping from his heart, now shattered and completely broken – the pieces lying next to the smashed mug that had fallen to the floor, the small chips spewed everywhere – too many to pick up. But, without it properly beating, it left his whole self feeling a numbness that covered his body – blocking light and direction, leaving him to stumble through emotions, unseeing and lost.

Owen looked up as he heard a bang from the floor above, no doubt from a falling object of some sorts, and paused for a second before turning his head back to the television set. Whilst he knew that he should, he had no energy to stop her in what she was doing, and throw Jenny out of the house. He figured that she must have heard about his…actions, and decided that this was the time – when she assumed he wouldn't be home – to collect Kay's things. No doubt she had been horrified and extremely embarrassed when she heard Owen return, and saw him coming up the stairs – but he had done nothing but stop for a moment, look her in the eyes, put the sleeping bag back in the cupboard and turn his back on her – so as to go downstairs. And he had not looked at her, let alone said anything to her, since.

What exactly would he have to say to the girl anyway?

Owen clenched his fist, letting the point of the ring dig into his skin - causing a dull pain in his palm, as the television blared with colours and sounds that ran into themselves indistinguishably, casting a small shadow on Owen's face and reflecting in his blank eyes. What bothered him; despite the fact that he knew of how he had wasted days of work, thoughts and worries of those who cared about him, and had given a complete disregard to his health and well-being; what really hit him hardest, that _really_ stabbed at his skin, was the thought of what she had been doing all those days when he had been driving himself (and everybody he knew) mad.

Over the course of about a week and a half, Owen had been trapped in his own mind and heart; a true slave to his emotions. And he had let himself become that way – in the hope and longing of getting her back.

He had spent almost five hours one night driving around, non-stop, in the hopes of catching her and looking her in the eyes – to tell her not to go, to tell her not to leave him. About two hours _straight_ had been spent, searching the phonebook, in hopes of finding someone remotely connected to her, so as to call them – in hopes of finding out where she was, or – at least – reaching her. Then, almost a _week and a half_ was devoted to sitting in the sun, rain and wind that dominated a street corner, surviving only on occasional cups of coffee and plates of food, and sheltered only by a flimsy sleeping bag that could not withstand hours of heavy rain, without letting it seep through to Owen's clothes and skin. And all along, he had spent countless nights wide awake, as he couldn't – or wouldn't – let sleep wash over him, either because his mind was too busy and hurt to sleep, or because he was in fear of missing her if she were to walk by sometime in the night. And countless, _countless_, hours had every part of himself thinking of, longing for, remembering and loving her.

She had moved on and found someone else.

He couldn't understand it. After all he had done for her, all he had given – why was he just to get it thrown back in his face, slapping him hard on the skin and leaving him dazed and confused as to what just happened? Sure, he had not been the perfect lover, and – more importantly – the perfect friend, and he felt that he was hugely to blame for her walking out on him…but what on earth had he done to deserve a punishment as hard as this?

What? Was this guy so perfect that he could treat Kay better than he, Owen, had? In recent events, that could be viewed as true – but Owen didn't even have a second chance to prove differently. He had tried all he could to show her how much he needed her, and how important she was to him – but apparently, it wasn't enough.

How much more could he do? What much else could he say - to show her otherwise?

The ring stabbed at his skin harder as he pressed onto it with more force. So…was this the end? Had he failed, just like every other plan in his life had failed, in catching her before she slipped away? Was he now forced with having to watch her living her life – without him?

After all he had given, after all he had been through – this is what he was forced to receive?

And she was free from all of this. Free of him, free from this life and free of everything that Owen could see in front of him. Locked in his own cell, with a sentence that seemed to span out far into a spot in the distance that he just couldn't see.

And she was _happy_. How could she be free of all this emotion – of this feeling that seeped from every organ that Owen had? When she had left, she had left with his heart, and he had to live on what remained.

It seemed clear to him: the suitcase that she had taken with her on that night, with his heart packed tightly inside, had been opened – and its contents had been carelessly thrown out; the remains lying on the ground somewhere, or washed away by the rain that had fallen into the streams, flowing down the streets of the town.

"Um…I'll-I'll just go now…"

Owen turned his head towards to door to face Jenny's nervous figure, arm holding up a large box, a square on the side missing from when Owen had needed a bit of cardboard about a week and a half before. She shifted her weight a little, hoisting the box up more comfortably, before turning her back on Owen and walking out the door.

As he watched her figure walking down the driveway, and into her car at the curb, through the open window – Owen couldn't get that look of sympathy that she had given him, before her body turned and walked away, out of his mind.

No.

It wasn't sympathy.

It was a look of pity.

Owen clenched his fist harder, feeling the blood throb as the ring pressed sharper against his palm. _She pitied him_.

And, for the first time since he had seen Kay that morning, he finally felt something run through his veins. Fuelled by confusion, heartbreak, disappointment and frustration, anger flowed through the blood in his body, through his mind, through every muscle that he had, and through his heart.

What had he let himself become? Driving away the one woman that he loved, with every breath, and who loved him such in return.

_Loved_. Past tense.

He blamed nobody but himself for letting it come to this. She had found someone else, who would treat her like she deserved - whilst he sat here, receiving _pity_ from people who barely knew anything about him. If it wasn't for him, for his actions…

He clenched the ring harder still before standing up suddenly and hurling it away from his body. It flew through the air, before hitting the picture on the desk, bouncing off it with such force that it caused the frame to topple over the edge, its glass cracking across the smiling faces of what once was.

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**AN: Another chapter with pressure! Felt even more with this one...brilliant song that puts the feeling/situation is an amazing way - lot to live up to :/  
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**For all those wondering about the likelihood of Kay finding someone else in such a short time...don't worry! All will be explained. Couldn't have such a gaping loophole like that, could I? ;]**

**Anywho, thanks again for everyone who has read up to this point [I made it to chapter 5?? o.o] and a HUGE thank you to everyone that has taken the time and care to review!! Special note goes to Palm Tree (on FictionPress) who has given stupid amounts of time and care on helping me out with everything :]]**

**Thanks again, and don't forget to drop a word! xx**

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**_Disclaimer:_**

**_I do not own The Script, their album or [sadly] any of their lyrics. I am just another fan that has been inspired._**


	6. Chapter 6

**We Cry**

"Hey sexy."

Owen's bloodshot eyes squinted in pain as piercing sunlight from the open doorway flooded his vision. "James, I'm not in the mood-" He began hoarsely, trying to make out his friend's figure in the blinding glare.

"Oh…my…God."

Owen turned his head sharply at the sound of his other friend's shocked voice, trying to make out his silhouette through the painful haze, so as to focus on him.

"'_Just give him a day… He needs some time on his own… No he won't do anything stupid… He'll be fine…_'"

"James, don't mock me. And how was I supposed to-"

"Guys, seriously! If this is what you're here for, then piss off, I am honestly not in the mood" Owen pressed hoarsely. He began to close the door on the two men, but was interrupted by James' foot blocking the way as it wedged itself between the wood of the door and the frame.

"'Course you're not in the mood, why do you think we're here?" James replied, looking Owen pointedly in the eyes. "Now let us in, or we'll force our way in. And by the looks of things, you really don't need something else smashed up and lying in pieces on the floor."

"_What_? He's destroyed the place‽"

"No, I have _not _destroyed the place! _What_ would make you thin-" Owen started in angry offence in retort to Liam's question, throwing his arm out to point at the settee and furniture, the majority of it dusty, but all still intact.

"So that glass just got there on it's own then, did it?"

"Huh? Oh…" Owen said slowly, looking down and lifting his foot from the midst of shards of glass, which had previously sat together in the mirror that hung by the door. "I dunno how that…" He finished in confusion, frown growing across his face.

"Exactly," said James, closing his case with a single nod of 'I told you so', before elbowing the now weakly held door, and stepping over the glass. He made his way over to a chair near the small end table, registering the cracked picture frame on the floor, before sitting down and looking up at his friend, who had stepped back in weak defeat so as to let the tall figure of Liam through.

Letting go of the door completely, Owen stooped down to clumsily sweep away the shards of mirror with his hands. He winced as Liam closed the door with a small slam, hand jumping up as it slipped and left a small, red gash on the side.

"Chee, thanks Liam, be louder next time please." Growled Owen under his breath, standing up and trying to shake the pain out of his hands, rubbing the small amount of blood on his jeans.

Liam turned his head to face Owen, a look of disappointment flooding his dark eyes, "Owen, get away from that glass – I'll clean it up…" He said, making his way towards his friend at the wall.

"What? You're just barging into my house and ordering me about now are you? Really guys, now is not a good time. I can clean this up on my own. Could you just…leave or something? I have…stuff to do…" Owen demanded angrily, glaring with slightly unfocused eyes from one man to the other, his sentence fading away into nothingness as he reached to open the door again.

"Drowning your sorrows in self-pity and alcohol does _not _count as 'stuff to do'," replied James, his eyes focused on the man and matching the anger that was in Owen's voice.

"So that's what you think I've been doing? Some friends you are, always assume the worst don't you? First you accuse me of smashing up the place, and now you're saying that I'm a damn alcoholic!"

"Look at yourself! You're actually drunk right now, aren't you?" James retorted, standing up with anger, kicking the cracked picture frame away from his foot as he made his way towards the door. "Come on Liam, he's right, he's obviously not in the right state now – doesn't even want us here. We can come back later when he's sobered up." He finished, grabbing Liam's arm and shooting a glare at the man by the wall.

"James, sit down and be reasonable. Did you really expect anything different than this?" Liam said, tearing his arm away from James' grasp and using it to point back at the armchair he had just left. "He's just seen the girl he loved with another man-"

"Thanks mate, really needed reminding of that." Owen interrupted bitterly, but letting his arm fall from his attempt to grab the door.

"I was just saying," Liam pressed, looking Owen in the eyes forcefully, "That you've just had your heart completely ripped to shreds and the remains pissed on, so _of course_ you would be on edge, and that we should take that into consideration." He finished, in a calm, but forceful voice, relaxing very slightly when Owen's eyes flickered and he moved his head away in shame to break the gaze.

"Fine, but if he insults us for coming down here to help him one more time, I'm off." James growled, body relaxing, but still not taking his glare off Owen.

"Right…so…" Liam said awkwardly, glancing between the two one more time before deciding to make his way towards the sofa, sitting down slowly and slightly unsure of what was going to happen next. However, he eased up when he saw James turn his head angrily from Owen, and make his way back to the chair he had occupied before.

"Listen… I didn't want… I mean, I didn't… Sorry." Owen finished weakly, still not looking either of his friends in the eye.

"'S okay. Really didn't expect much else to be honest. Just, sit down or something. And seriously, get away from that glass." Liam replied, relieved that both Owen and James had appeared to calm down, and not send the room into a battle of harsh voices.

"He's not eight Liam, treat him like a man for goodness sake." James said, rolling his eyes slightly at the man's words.

"Right, yeah, sorry Owen. Didn't mean to say it like that – just wanted you away from that glass." Liam replied awkwardly, but happy that James had returned to his normal self. This was one thing that he had always admired about the man, no matter how mad he got, he never let it carry on passed the moment, and could act as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. He couldn't remember James ever holding a grudge in all the years that they had known each other.

Owen, on the other hand, said nothing, but just made his way nervously over to the middle of the room. He slowly sat down on the sofa, Liam on his right, sitting on the second half of the two-seater, and James on his left, in the armchair. Once he had sat down, his body stiff and left hand rubbing the cut on his right in a mixture of pain and anxiety, James broke the short silence with the one question he now felt too ashamed to answer:

"So, what did actually happen yesterday? I mean…after you saw Kay and…er…returned home."

Out of the corner of his eye, Owen caught the worried look that Liam was wearing, which had quickly been shot at him, causing shame to wash over him even more. He wasn't _that _bad - was he?

He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, trying to think through the pain in his head, before deciding that, this time, the truth was the only answer.

"Well, I came back…put my things back in the cupboard and in the bin, and then came down here, as I wanted to be as far away from Jenny as possible."

"Wait…what's Jenny got anything to do with this…?" James asked, frowning in confusion.

"She was upstairs at the time, collecting Kay's things…"

"She was in the _house_‽" Liam cut in, shocked and appalled. "How did she get in?" He pressed.

Owen shrugged, "I dunno… Kay probably gave her a key or something… She mentioned that Jenny would be round to get her stuff…" He replied, not really caring about the situation.

"Yeah…but for her to come on the very day-" Liam said, thinking aloud.

"_Told_ you we should have come here as soon as we had heard! But _of course-"_

"Well how was I supposed to know‽ Only thought he'd need some space for a bit before-"

"Guys! Could you keep it down? My head is killing me as it is…" Owen moaned, putting his head in his hands, pressing them against his eyes in a useless effort to try and ease the pain.

Liam and James glanced at each other for a second, before the former picked up the moment with a small, "Sorry. So… what? Did you kick her out or something?"

"No, she left after a while. Don't ask me after how long, I really have no idea. But she left with a box of Kay's things and drove off…" Owen said, mumbling slightly as his hands pressed harder on his eyes.

"And then?" Liam asked, still unable to get over the idea of Jenny being in the house, on the very day his friend had returned home from the worst moment of his life.

"When she left, I…I decided I couldn't stay in this place any longer. I can't really remember… I just felt too much going on, all the memories, all the things…" Owen's voice faded as his heart began to enter his throat again, mind clouding up. "I just had to get out." He finished after a moment, closing the thought.

"So you then decided to drown yourself in alcohol to try and solve the problem." Said James, leaning forwards and giving a nod of realisation.

Owen's head shot up and he looked at James with a glare. "Well what else was I supposed to do? I literally had nowhere to go, no idea of what to do next, no clue of _anything_. In fact, I'm still like that now. But I'm not like you, James. For me, getting over someone does not involve getting under someone else. Just a couple of hours of _release _from everything, to not have to think, or feel, for once, was – for me – the best option, the most welcoming idea. Can you really blame me for that?"

James shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Suppose not…" He mumbled, before catching on to something that Owen had said, "But wait a moment… What _are_ you talking about 'getting under someone else'?"

"He's right you know." Liam commented, not taking his eyes off Owen, his heart going out to his friend. "Your solution to a broken heart usually involves another woman…" He paused, thinking for a moment, before turning his head to James and asking, "How do you do that anyway? You can set your eyes on one woman and end up next to her the morning after. No problem."

James's lips formed a small smile, "Ahh, my naïve friend, it's all in the words. The beauty of the English Langua-"

"What _are_ you talking about James?" Liam laughed slightly.

"He's talking about chat-up lines Liam…" Owen said weakly, closing his eyes against the light, but allowing a small smile to play on the corner of his lips. The closest he had been to smiling in what seemed to be a lifetime.

"_Chat-up lines._ Seriously?" Liam said with a laugh. "And _what_ ones would they be exactly?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" James said, a sly smile on his face.

"Actually, I'm married, in case you've forgotten. But, I would like to know. More for amusement than to actually use them."

"_Well._ Usually it depends on the girl, you see…" He said, his face showing his train of thought – most likely going through memories.

Liam rolled his eyes, knowing James too well to know that he was just pausing for, what he thought was, effect. "So what chat-up line have you used the most then? Your usual one or something."

"Ah, well that's my point…there isn't a _usual_ one. It really dep-"

"Just spit it out James, you're not holding us in suspense for a _chat-up_ _line_." Liam laughed, pushing James along before he went off on a usual full-minute-holding.

"Hmm… Well the last one I used was: 'I have had a really bad day and it always makes me feel better to see a pretty girl smile. So, would you smile for me?'"

Liam burst out with laughter in reaction. "And that _worked_?" He said between laughs.

"Well, yeah! I think… I dunno if it was that line, or the fact that I'm just that damn charming" Smiled James with a joking wink.

"You're a natural entertainer, you know that?" Chuckled Liam, looking at his friend, baffled as to how he managed to pull something like that off.

"All the world's a stage my friend."

Liam started laughing again "_Shakespeare? _Since when do _you_ quote _Shakespeare_?"

"Hey! Can't I add a little bit of culture into my life now and then?"

"You? No, no you can't."

"Well if all the world's a stage, I just wish the curtain would fall on the scene already – I'm done with this part." Owen said weakly, opening his eyes and beginning to lift himself up heavily.

Liam and James stopped laughing abruptly and glanced worriedly at each other. After seeing James give a clueless shrug, Liam turned to Owen's rising figure with a soft, "Listen…"

Owen sighed but let his body drop back down onto the sofa, knowing that Liam wouldn't want him to walk off again. "Off" being out the door and to the corner shop to buy something else to drink, ignoring his protesting head. Why couldn't they just leave him alone for a bit? He didn't want to have to think…to be aware of what was going on, of what he was feeling.

Relieved that he had sat back down, showing that he was willing to listen, Liam began to continue, but James got there a second before.

"Wait a moment…if Jenny was collecting Kay's things…how do you know that that's not exactly where she's staying? I mean-" He said, sitting up quickly.

Owen shook his head, looking at his friend. "No she isn't. Jenny was one of the first people I went to the night she walked out… Banged on her door and everything, but I don't think she appreciated that at 3am… Threatened to call the police actually, when I wouldn't leave straight away… Didn't really call on any doors after that." He said, remembering the moment pretty clearly; thinking now that perhaps, if he hadn't made such a fuss, bringing her to the point of threatening to call the police…maybe he _could_ have knocked on more doors…he could have found her.

'_Pretty useless realising that now_'.

He swallowed, thinking bitterly before finishing, "But yeah, she isn't there."

"Oh…right…" James whispered slowly.

"Yeah, right." Repeated Owen, turning his head away from James – hating to see the very disappointment he had felt for the past two weeks reflected on his friend's face.

"Listen mate, we know how you feel-" Said Liam quietly, breaking the silence that had grown between them.

Owen turned his head to face the man, a look of confusion and anger in his face and eyes. "How could you _possibly_ know how I feel? How could you _honestly_ believe that you know what I'm going through? You…you're a happily married man, you've never had the woman you were going to _marry_ walk out on you. You've never been so _stupid_ as to sit on a street corner to _wait _for her – spending half the time convincing yourself that you aren't delusional and insane for doing this, and that she _would _come. But then, when she finally does come, and you finally do see her, you find out that she's actually, happily with _another fucking man_." He finished, failing in his unsaid promise to keep his anger in control, wanting now just to stand up and throw something…or get away from the place completely.

However, Liam stayed calm, though quickly speaking upon seeing Owen's figure begin to give into his emotions again. "No, you're right, I have not done any of those things. But, Owen, you can't say that you're the only person to have ever gotten your heart broken. I did not just meet Demi when I was a teenager and she was not the first person I ever felt for. And, in no way, can you say that we have never had troubles. I may have never, thankfully, had my fiancé walk out on me – but that's not to say that I've never watched the woman I loved walk away. I may have never waited on a street corner for a girl, but I have stayed up for hours into the night, many a time, yearning to hear the door open as the woman who had just slammed it decides that she does actually want to stay. And, actually, I think we all have been in the position where, whilst we're being driven out of our minds with heartbreak, we find out that the other person is happily with someone else. So, okay, I may not know _exactly_ of how you feel, but don't go saying that I'm completely clueless of the feeling, and that you're the only guy on earth to ever be in this position."

Owen's eyes broke the gaze that Liam was holding, struck speechless of how to reply to that. Nobody broke the silence that then fell between the three, but then, slowly, Owen raised his eyes to meet the dark ones of his best friend, his light ones filled with heartbreak and pleading. "So…what am I supposed to do Liam?" He began, managing to say it in no more than a hoarse whisper. "I'm so lost…no idea of where to go next…what to do next… We were going to get _married_. Liam, you – for one – have to know how that feels. She's not supposed to be with someone else…wasn't it always meant to be Kay and _me_? When she said 'yes', didn't that mean that we were meant to be together? Wasn't…wasn't that ring supposed to be a sign of commitment, a promise?" He glanced at the ring, lying against the side of the cabinet and blocked by the wood from the light streaming in between the cracks of the curtains. "Please…" He said, looking back into the calm face. "Just…tell me, if what I'm doing now is wrong…what should I be doing? What am I actually supposed to do next? " He whispered, almost pleading, hoarsely, having to stop when his throat closed up, not allowing him to say anymore.

Liam paused for a second, thinking. His heart broke to see this in his friend, but he was unshaken by the look in Owen's eyes; forced to remember the moment only a few years ago, when he had been in almost the exact position as the man in front of him was…asking of something so similar from the very mind that now needed an answer so badly.

"I think…just…for now, you have to accept…that Kay isn't with you anymore." He said, slowly, but quickly adding, "I don't mean completely give up! But just…perhaps…leave it for a bit" when he saw Owen's mouth begin to open in protest. "Right now, Kay's with Michael, and you just have to-"

"Michael‽" Owen blinked, his brain shooting back into action, his heart beating at an unnatural pace. It seemed to sober him up at that moment, in every way, with his mind reeling and his body jumping up quickly but steadily. His heart beat in his now alert ears, his eyes clear and shocked, but determined.

"Yeah, Michael… That's what Demi sa- Owen _what_ are you doing?"

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**Okay, I know that this chapter wasn't nearly as heavily based on the song it's named after as previous chapters. It, for instance, doesn't have a girl who gave birth at the age of 14, nor does it have a talented boy that dreams of being on stage, but then turns to drugs and ends up being "too far gone, to get it together to sing one song". **

**However, this is the chapter that really focuses on the _message_ of the song. IE. "Together we cry" and "A problem shared is a problem halved". So...there we go :]  
**

**Wait...it does mention a Jenny... Hehe, just noticed that now actually xPP My friend suggested that name and all...**

**Anywho, ****thanks again for all the time you guys have put into reading so far! And an extra, huge, thanks for those who have given the care to review! Wouldn't be here without you :]]**

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**_Disclaimer:_**

**_I do not own The Script, their album or [sadly] any of their lyrics. I am just another fan that has been inspired._**


	7. Chapter 7

**Fall For Anything**

James was the first one to react. Jumping up, he ran through the door that Owen had flung open; with a force that he certainly didn't have only two minutes ago.

"Owen! _What do you think you're doing?_" Shouted James, running after his friend down the driveway. "Where the _hell_ are you going?" He asked demandingly, grabbing Owen's arm and holding him back before he reached the car.

"I…have…to…get…to…Kay." Owen struggled, before managing to free himself from James' grasp for a second; using that second to run forwards two steps. Expecting this though, James flung out his other arm to grab Owen again, now holding onto the man's limb with both of his hands.

"Did you catch _anything_ of what Liam just said?" He demanded, struggling equally as hard to keep his balance and still hold on. "You…can't…keep…doing…this." James pressed as Liam ran past him to stand in front of Owen, in case he slipped away again.

"Yes…I…did. _That's…the…point._" Owen said, in between his increasing struggle for freedom.

"Owen! Seriously! You really can't keep doing this! How do you even know where to go, where to find her? You said yourself you had no idea where she is!" Said Liam, doing his best to talk sense into his friend, but holding his arms out just in case.

At that moment, Owen stopped struggling and stood still, looking Liam pointedly in the eyes. "You said she was with Michael, right?" He asked pressingly.

"Well, yeah – but I-"

"Then that's where she'll be. Which means I _need_ to get to her." He answered, beginning to struggle once more to try and reach his car, but not managing to slip out of James' grip.

"What? Looking like that?" Asked James through gritted teeth, tightening his grip on his friend's arm.

"He's right! Even if you do see her, what's she going to think? You're hung over and you _stink_ of cigarettes and alcohol. Not to mention that you haven't changed, washed or shaved in about a week and a half. What's she going to th-" Began Liam, picking up on James' comment, his body and arms darting in the directions that Owen moved.

"Don't you get it? I…don't…care! If…she's…with...Michael…then…I…_need_…to…see…her…_now._"

"Just because you know who he is, it doesn't mean that you can barge into some place to see her, especially in your state! Liam's right! You have to accept the fact that she isn't with you anymore!"

Owen stopped struggling, but quickly turned around to face James, grabbing the man's outstretched arm with his free hand. He looked him squarely in the eyes before saying, in a calm but hurried voice: "Listen. I don't know how well you knew Kay before we got together, but I'm guessing that it's not much. Thing is… James, do you remember the night that we first _really_ met; the night we first kissed?"

"Sure. You wouldn't leave each other for the rest of the night…and quite a while after that." He replied, slightly thrown aback by Owen's actions and question. "Wasn't it last year, right in the beginning of the year or something? Yeah, just after you broke up with-"

"Okay, good." Owen picked up, still talking in the same calm, but forceful tone. "Then you'll remember that that night, we were outside for who knows how long; talking about things we hadn't shared with anyone but our closest friends. Some of the stuff that I had mentioned that night had never even been spoken aloud before – not even to you guys."

James lifted his eyebrows for a moment, opening his mouth to speak before Owen quickly added an, "It doesn't matter what I said – that's not the point. However, it's good that you remember that I had just broken up with Tara." Owen paused, swallowing hesitantly - feeling like he was betraying Kay just by mentioning this. After a second though, he continued in a slower, heavier tone. "Thing is, my love-life was not the only one being dragged through crap at the time."

James' eyes searched Owen's face in confusion, wondering where on earth this was going, but having a feeling somewhere in his stomach that it wasn't leading to something good.

"At that time, Kay was being highly abused – emotionally I mean, I don't think it was ever physical - by her current boyfriend. I won't go into it much, but I'm pretty sure you can imagine what I mean. You know, convincing her about love, when his interests really only lay in sex."

Behind him, Liam's eyes begin to widen in shock and horror – catching onto what was coming.

"He managed to tear her into pieces sometimes, but she'd be too devoid of courage to break up with him. Every time she even tried, he'd turn on this manipulating _charm_,making her fall back in love with him, making her feel stupid and guilty for even _suggesting_ to cut if off." He started putting some pressure on his hand; his speech returning to it's former hurried, forced tone, "So, the reason why I _do_ need to see her, _right now_, is because that _bastard's _name, was Michael." With that, Owen used the hand on James' arm to throw off his friend, whose grip had loosened in shock.

Catching Liam by surprise, he ran passed his outstretched arms, pushing him down to the pavement when he was about to be grabbed again, but not looking back as he unlocked the car and flung open the door.

A second too slow, James' hands groped the glass of the window from the door that had slammed shut, shouting his friend's name as the glass slipped under his palm.

"OWEN! YOU CANT JUST-"

But Owen's car had already reversed out of the driveway, with a speed too high to be safe, leaving the two in anger and confusion as to what just happened. Glancing out of the side mirror, Owen saw the two men running frantically after the car, before he turned a corner and sped off at a speed nobody could hope in following.

-----

As his eyes moved from the edge of the mirror – in pursue of focusing on the road – they caught onto something that nearly caused Owen to crash. For the first time in almost eleven days, Owen locked eyes with his reflection. Or, at least, someone who sort of resembled himself…but with major differences.

The face looking back at him had the same colour hair, but Owen's had never been so unkempt and overgrown, had it? The parts that weren't sticking up, from the numerous times he had run his hand through it, fell and hung over his head and eyes, not brushed or even attempted to have been managed for weeks. Also, the fact that it had been washed only by the rain for the past ten days, the normal slight shine of cleanliness had gone; replaced by a dull, slightly dirty, deadness that ran through it.

What's more, the last time he could recall catching sight of his reflection, he had known that he needed a shave - or at least done something to the small shadow - before he was to see Kay. That was nothing compared to what he thought now. What had been a light shadow on his jaw beforehand; had been neglected and allowed to creep on his face, without taming or boundaries. Taking one hand off the steering wheel, Owen ran his fingers over the mess, the feeling of such contrast to the once roughness confirmed that it really was - actually him in that glass.

But…his eyes… Those eyes weren't his – were they? Sure they had that green tinge to them that they had always had, but – when did they get so bloodshot and filled with exhaustion? Just like his own, the ones in the glass were widened in shock and confusion…but since when did such dark shadows hang off their frame and lids?

They jerked back into action as a nearby car's horn blasted Owen's mind back to Earth, turning to focus on the road as his hand returned to grip the wheel.

'_Kay'_.

This time, Owen knew where he was going. He remembered how he had had to collect Kay, not long after that night, from Michael's house. She insisted that she needed to talk to him alone, that it was her who needed to end it once and for all, but had gone over the direction to his house over and over again – so that Owen could be there when she finally walked out with her things.

'"_Make sure you turn right. Right. Because if you turn left, then it'll lead you into a completely differ-"_

"_Yes, Kay – I know, we've been through this. Right – as in not left. As in not straight on, backwards, sideways, diagonal, up, down – as in right. I know where I'll be going Kay – don't worry. I'll be right there when you need me…"'_

But…what about after he turned right? She had then said that he would see her from that point onwards, be it on the pavement or at the door, the last time. Now though, he had no clue what _number _the house was.

Frantically scanning the street and the many doors, his head throbbed as he tried to access the vague memory of when he was here last. For a moment, he considered banging on every single door to try and find out where she was, but then – he saw her. Just like when she had said so, so long ago, she was there.

Well, it wasn't _exactly_ where she was last time. This time, he caught a glimpse of her in the front window of a house nearby, as she walked out of the room – but he now, finally, knew where she was. After two weeks of searching, chasing, hoping and praying – he knew.

Jumping out of the car, he slammed the door shut behind him as he sprinted up the stone steps to the door.

"KAY!"

Furiously, he hammered on the wood, stopping only to ring the bell four times, before beginning to hammer again.

"KAY! YOU HAVE TO OPEN UP!"

He was now putting all of his energy into making as much noise as possible, so as to grab her attention – to finally let her know he was there. Liam was wrong – he couldn't wait. He had done enough waiting for the girl he loved, and now was the time for action. And sometimes - action had to be loud.

"KAY! PLEASE. JUST OPEN TH-"

Owen almost fell through the open doorway, but managed to keep upright when he saw the very face he had yearned to see for so long, standing right there in front of his tired eyes.

Both hearts seemed to skip a beat as the two figures stood there on either side of the doorway, both struck speechless by the sight of each other after so long. Then, as the blood started to flow again, action sprung back into them both – their minds now going at twice the speed. Owen opened his mouth to say something, but was blocked by the wooden door that was being forced closed in a mixture of shock, fear and anger. However, Owen frantically stuck his foot in between the door and the frame, not prepared to let her slip away again. His eyes watered in pain as wood slammed on bone, but he paid little attention to it, and threw his arm forwards in second attempt to keep the door open.

"Kay! Just…please…let-"

"No! Owen! I told you-!"

"I know. But Kay-"

"I'm done listening to you Owen. Just-"

"Kay! Please! I'm not here to-"

"Didn't you get it when I gave you the ring? It's _over_ Owen!"

"So you go to _Michael_?"

Kay suddenly stopped trying to force the door to close, causing Owen to fall forwards a step. She paused for a second, her face unreadable. "So? What's wrong with Michael?"

Owen blinked in shock at her question. "What's wrong with…? Kay this is _Michael_ we're talking about!"

"Yes. I'm very aware of his name, Owen."

"Then…how on _Earth_ can you…?"

"Oh, I get it. My ex doesn't approve of the guy I'm currently with. Owen, you are many things, but I never once before thought you pathetic." She said coldly, beginning to close the door again.

"Kay!" Owen blurted out, throwing his arm forward once more to prevent her closing it. "Does it kill me that you walked out? Yes. Am I torn to pieces at the fact that you've met another guy? Yes! But how can you not _remember_-"

Slightly thrown aback by his response, Kay let go of the door again, the coldness that she was trying so hard to keep in her eyes edging away.

"I… He's changed…" She cut in weakly, her answer running into nothingness.

"'_He's changed_'? Kay, no man can change that much! Especially him!" He said, exasperation lining his words. "Wasn't it exactly like this last time too? _Every time _you'd find the courage to break it off with him – he'd convince you that he _could _change, that he _would_ change." Owen started to gain strength again, fuelled by the boiling anger in his heart, rising up and flowing into his brain. "Then, he'd keep it up for a couple of days – a week at the most – before he'd be back to his old self, sha-"

"Owen! It _isn't _like that now. Michael…he treats me right, like I should be treated." She cut in, anger returning to her voice as the sentence went on. "Which is more than you could do." She added coldly.

Owen looked Kay in the eyes, anger fading away as heartbreak took its place in his own. "Kay… I know that I haven't treated you fairly, with the love and care that you deserve so much, over these past few months – and I am, _truly_, sorry. I would do _anything_ to be able to change my actions, my words, my thoughts – you just have to give me the chance-"

"Wait." Kay interrupted, "Let me just get this straight. You're now begging me to give you another chance, to prove that you have _changed_? You hypocrite. How _dare _you come marching up to me, shouting about how Michael can't have changed, how I've made a horrible choice, and to come back to help you prove that _you_ have changed?" She demanded, disgust starting to fill her words. "Maybe you're right. Maybe some men can't change. But it _certainly _isn't Michael that I'm referring to when I say that."

Owen's arm shot up as she began to close the door again. "But, Kay! Out of the two of us, me and Michael I mean, who do you _honestly _think could make a change for the better? Yes, I've made my mistakes – but I have _never_ even come close to the mistakes Michael has made. Actually, no, the word 'mistake' makes it sound accidental. Kay, I don't know about you, but I could hardly call sleeping with another woman '_accidental'_. I could hardly call manipulating you into bed '_accidental'_. I could hardly call-"

"Owen. I get the point." Kay said, struggling to keep the anger in her voice now.

"Well, if you get the point – _why_ are you with him, Kay? Did he say something? Did he tell you that he's _changed_, that he's _better_ – that he still loves you? Because that's exactly what he said last time! You're just going to let him put you through that _again_? Because, he's going to say whatever pops into his head that'll make you get back into bed again! It won't be _any_ different to last time, Kay!" Owen began, trying to plead sense into her. The memory of everything that she had told him about Michael that night wouldn't stop repeating itself in his mind. He couldn't, he _wouldn't_, let her slip away…into that.

"Kay. Please. What do I have to do to convince you that I've changed? To convince you that I still love you, and want you back more than anything else in my life? The past week, I have been sittin-"

"Is this man bothering you, Kay?"

Owen's eyes darted to the figure standing behind the girl. He had been so immersed in what he had to say, he hadn't noticed him walk up to the doorway, and put a hand on her arm.

"No…I-"

"Michael." Owen growled, anger flooding his eyes once more. "You dare-"

"Oh my God. Is this _Owen_?" Michael said, eyes widening in shock. "Kay… Listen; I know you told me everything of how you hated this man, and of how he broke your heart so guiltlessly, but you _never_ even _mentioned_ the fact he's an alcoholic. It's only ten am and he's already pissed out of his mind!" He tightened his grip on her arm – as if to protect her.

"Owen… You're… _Drunk_?" Kay whispered, shock and heartbreak taking over her throat.

"Are you _kidding_? He _stinks _of it!" Michael said, putting emphasis on the disgust in his voice. "His eyes completely give him away too. Bloodshot and distant. Looks like he hasn't shaved since you left either, or washed – or even _changed_ for that matter." He said, eyes sweeping over Owen's figure. "It's a good thing you ended it when you did, Kay. What were you saying, Owen? For the past week you've been _sitting_? So, when the girl who loved you with all her heart walks out on you, you just sit down on a bar stool? You know Kay – from what you told me, that doesn't actually surprise me." He shot one last look of disgust at Owen's figure before he held out his arm, preparing to shut the door on him. However, Kay got there first.

Hand on the door; she looked at Owen with angry tears flooding her eyes, the pupils filled with heartbreak and pain.

"Owen… How _dare _you come to me to talk about _change_? About _love_? About _giving you another chance_? Standing here, I can very clearly see who has changed, and who really is, _actually_, capable of loving me." She said, her voice full of hatred and hurt. "I stand by what I said before, Owen: I don't care anymore – I'm finished with you."

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**AN: Well there you go then, you know who Michael is. Was it who you were expecting, and what do you think? **

**A surprising number of you also were convinced that Owen was going to just go off and fight this guy...you're a bunch of violent readers.  
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**Anywho, thanks again for the time to read so far [SEVEN chapters o.o] and a huge, extra, thanks for the ones who have dropped their thoughts and reviews. Special thanks goes to ****Mintiee x (FictionPress), for calming me when I was freaking out about cliché's.**

**Don't forget to drop a thought and review!**

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**_Disclaimer:_**

**_I do not own The Script, their album or [sadly] any of their lyrics. I am just another fan that has been inspired._**


	8. Chapter 8

**Rusty Halo**

"But I still don't get why she would go back to somebody who abused her!"

_Owen heard Liam sigh as sounds of mugs meeting hard counter filled the room. Once again, all three men were found in Owen's kitchen, talking about exactly the same subject that had been in the air since the last time they were there – Kay._

"It actually isn't too hard a concept to understand," came Liam's voice over the sound of a running tap.

_The way that Owen had gotten from facing the closed door of Michael's house – to having his head in his hands and looking, unseeingly, at his own kitchen table top - was all just a meaningless, soundless blur to him. However, amongst the mixture of colours – and lack of sounds, there was only one thing that he could remember. Of how, after a time - which could have been anything between a second and a century – as far as Owen knew, he felt a single hand close upon his arm, and slowly turn his body away from the door – as it lead him away from the building_.

"Well please do share, as not all of us are so all-knowing, that the idea of someone going back to a guy who hurt her that much, is completely 'understandable'."

_The hand had then slowly lead him to a car parked nearby, which had somehow brought him home. Here, a second hand – belonging to a slightly lighter grip – had lead him inside, and into the kitchen – sitting him down at the table; the top of which was currently filling his vision._

"No, seriously, it is. Haven't you ever wondered why victims of domestic abuse don't just pack up and go – and it all be over?"

_Yet, still the only thing he could see was her face, her expression, as she closed the door._

"Isn't that something like what Owen said? Charm and manipulation or something? Thing is though, she wasn't trying to break up with him – she actually went _back!_"

_The hatred and fury in the lips – the hurt and heartbreak in the eyes._

"Guessing she ran into him shortly afterwards… Or was somehow forced to talk to him – who knows? Point is, he was there when she was most vulnerable and desperate for a friend."

_The single tear, so full of emotion, which had just begun to roll slowly down her cheek – the end of it having just stopped clinging to her lashes._

"_How _is _he _considered a _friend_?"

_But, even above this – her last words that she had said before slamming the door were what really haunted Owen most of all._

"You forget how understanding and caring this man can be when it suits him! I'm sure he knew exactly what to say – and exactly when to say it. He would have known when to comfort her with words, and when to just hold her and let her talk – or cry – on his shoulder. _That _would make _any_ girl consider him as an _unbelievable_ friend. Plus, the fact that he knew Kay – and how her mind and heart works – probably helped a lot as far as time goes."

"_Owen… How dare you come to me to talk about _change_? About _love_? About _giving you another chance_? Standing here, I can very clearly see who has changed, and who really is, _actually_, capable of loving me."_

"But… Liam, this man's a complete and utter bastard! How could she let him get so close to her – after all that had happened last time? I thought that's what happened then too… He would lure her into a sense of safety, security, love – whatever – and then he'd take advantage of her!"

"…_Who really is, _actually_, capable of loving me."_

"Can you honestly say that you understand how upset this woman was? I'm pretty damn sure it wasn't easy for her to come to terms with what she had just done, leaving Owen. In that state she would have been so desperate for someone to talk to – it was regardless of who that someone was! Plus… Over time, the bad stuff, the memories of pain, can be diluted or forcibly forgotten in a mind. She (along with a lot of his help on that night, no doubt) would have only remembered the good, loving, _understanding_ Michael – and any thought as to the manipulative creep that he is, would have been forced to the back of her mind – as it would be too painful to remember."

_Of all the things that Kay had accused him of, had said about him – even in all the time that they were together, and arguing almost every night of the week - nothing had hit as hard as that. He wasn't capable of _loving_ her?_

"Okay, okay – so I get that… Still no reason why she would actually _move in_ with him."

_But… Right now, wasn't that all he had left? If that was taken away from him, what on _Earth_ did he now have? What could he now do? Where was he to go? _

_And the truly hardest, most painful part, of all, was that the only thing he had been sure of that he had left – had now been taken away and given to __**Michael**__? _

"To be honest, I don't know who else she had to go to at the time when she met him. For all we know, they could have talked the very night that she had left. And who better to go to after leaving your _fiancé_ than a kind, understanding man who seems to be interested in nothing but helping you get through the pain?"

"_He's changed. …He treats me right, like I should be treated…"_

"And she really thought that all he'd be interested in was helping her get through the pain?! Okay, I see what you say with 'forcibly forgetting' the bad – but I don't see how she could go as far as to move in with him without-"

"She said that he'd changed."

Both Liam and James turned sharply to look at Owen, whom they had just heard speak for the first time since the moment when he got into the car that morning.

"She… Wait, you _spoke_ to her?!" James exclaimed, sitting down quickly opposite Owen.

Owen nodded in response, still not looking up from the table top.

"But… How?"

"You - Owen, you didn't march up to the front door and demand to talk to her – did you?!" Liam asked, loudly dropping his hand on the table has he leant on his arm, trying to catch Owen's attention – so that he could look him in the eye.

But, once again, Owen merely nodded silently.

Liam sharply stood up straight once more and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Owen, you idiot! What were you _thinking_ turning up and shouting your head off at Kay?! _Especially _in the state you are in right now!"

"Liam, I think he stopped thinking when he sat down on that street corner a week-"

"Well that wouldn't physically terrify the woman and make her think-"

"She is with _Michael!_" Owen shouted, his head snapping up and eyes glaring at Liam. "You really think I could know that and just not do, or say, anything?"

"Well, no – but you didn't even _think_-"

"It shouldn't have to be that I need to _think_ to stop a guy like _him_ getting his hands on-"

"And what image are you presenting yourself as by aggressively knocking her door down in attempt to stop him-?!"

"Guys!" James almost stood up to try and stop the two turning it into a fully-blown argument. "What's done is done and we can't change that! Owen, in your state – perhaps it wasn't the best idea to go through with." Owen opened his mouth to retort, before James quickly added "But we can't change the past. All that we _can_ do right now is listen to you tell us what happened – and _then_ we can decide what to do next." His voice lowered in volume once he felt that the two wouldn't start again. "And, truly, how much of an idiot you are." He finished, glancing at Liam.

Owen slowly closed his mouth and turned his head away from both men as his anger drew back. Newly found shame began to creep up his neck once more as he tried to decide what to tell them. He shouldn't have kicked off like that… Liam had done nothing but help him these past few weeks – it wasn't fair to push all his frustration and anger onto the man.

"I… I drove to his house… And, once I found the right one, I… Did my best to let Kay know I was there – and to open the door. And… Well, she did."

Liam took a step back, so as to lean on one of the counters, holding back any questions and comments that were rising – wanting Owen to finish first.

Upon seeing that the two were waiting for him to go on, Owen – uncomfortably – continued. "And… Well… See, when she did – there was this moment where… I actually thought everything would be okay, and go back to normal – you know? For this _minute_ we just stood there, and I honestly thought that…" Owen swallowed, falling into silence for a second. "Well, that moment ended with her crushing my foot as I stuck it between the door and the frame – to prevent her from closing it fully"

James' eyes grew slightly wider as Owen spoke. Ignoring the fact that it was him who had requested Owen to talk, he cut in: "She…_ Tried to_ _close the door on you?_"

Owen nodded and let out a hoarse "Yeah," as his hands reached across the table and wrapped themselves around a coffee mug that Liam had placed there before – desperate for something to fiddle with to try and distract the uneasiness building up inside him.

"But… Well, like I said, I didn't let her. Hardly going to have gone through all of this…shit…to find her again, so to just let her slam the door on me when I finally do. I was convinced that if she heard me out…"

Owen paused for a minute, waiting to see if he was supposed to just continue – but, in reality, just praying for an interruption. However, no such distraction came so he was forced to just go on… "And so I told her – I reminded her – of who and _what_ Michael is. Of what he did last time… Of how badly he treated her-"

"And yet she's still with him? Memories can't be dimmed or forced away when they're shoved right in front of your face, and you've got no choice but to accept them!" James cut in again, turning to Liam in reference to the previous conversation.

Liam frowned, "I see your point… Did she just refuse to listen or -?" He asked, looking Owen in the eyes with confusion intertwined with concern.

"Well, she definitely tried to stop me talking by closing the door a couple more times… But, no, I doubt that was it."

"Then…?"

"I was so close too… I'm sure I saw it in her eyes that what I was saying was really starting to hit her… If I just had more time…" Owen said, more to himself, thinking aloud.

"_Owen_, what happened?" Liam interrupted, praying that his internal guess was completely wrong.

Owen stared into his coffee blankly for a minute, the memory of the moment hitting hard, before he lifted his head to look Liam straight in the eye. "Michael."

"_Michael_ was there?" Owen turned his head to look at James as he pressed with shock.

"Well, it was his house…" He answered, managing to look the man in the eyes once more.

"Yeah… I know, but still…" James said uncomfortably, before quickly adding with worry in his voice: "Please tell me you didn't attack him-"

"No, no – I didn't." Owen stopped him with a truthful shake of the head. "I… Just sort of stood there while he… Made a point of reminding Kay how much she hated me. About how much I hurt her and how I 'so guiltlessly broke her heart'."

"Owen…" Liam warned, noticing the rising volume in his friend's voice.

"What Liam?!" Owen demanded – his voice doing the complete opposite of quietening down. "He was so _clearly _marking his territory in front of me he might as well have pissed on the doorstep!"

"Well, yeah, that's exactly what this manipulative creep does – but it doesn't-"

"Exactly! Seriously, _how_ can she believe so much in how he's changed – when he was actually manipulating her right then and there?! Over and over again he felt the need to remind her of what she must have told him – or, more likely, exaggerated versions – shortly after she left! And _then_ he points out every fault about my current appearance – force-feeding her this _story_ of how I've spent every day since she left becoming an _alcoholic_."

"He made her think you were an alcoholic?" James exclaimed.

"Just before I noticed him I was beginning to tell Kay about that _stupid _street corner thing – to _prove _to her that I have changed. He must have heard me say 'for the past week I've been sitting,' and _twisted _it into telling her that I've been sitting 'on a bar stool' all this time." Owen explained, before continuing. "_How_ can she believe he's changed when he's standing right next to her twisting and manipulating like he always has done?!"

"That's exactly it! He knew _exactly_ what to say to make her believe that! If he's still got no problem with words and manipulation – I'm pretty sure he could _easily_ spin some story about how he's changed and how-"

"Well, you know what James?" Owen cut in, standing up from his seat. "Actions speak louder than words."

"Huh?"

It took Owen a further fifteen minutes to get Liam and James to leave the house. He knew that they had come round only with the intention of helping him, and he really did appreciate it, but it had also just hit him of precisely what he had to do; and there was no way he was going to waste a second longer than he already had. So, after constant requests, thank-yous, assurances that he would be fine, explain in minute detail why he wanted them out, and a "Don't you have jobs and a wife to take care of or something?" he stood at the doorway, doing his best to kick out his best friends – in the politest way he could manage.

"So you _promise_ that you're not just going to run out and try to talk to Kay again, the moment we leave? Cos, you're actually starting to borderline stalker now…" James asked, for the sixth time in those fifteen minutes – still not fully convinced.

"Yes, James – I told you. Besides, you just saw how far I get with _him_ around. You really think I'd go back to that in a hurry?"

"Owen, seriously – if you're just going back to that off-licence to drown yourself in alcohol again… I actually don't think I'd-"

"Liam," Owen began, looking him straight and squarely in the eyes, "If that's what I was going to do, then _how_ does that make me better than Michael?" He finished, full seriousness in his voice and a quick, guilty glance at the shattered glass by his foot.

"It wouldn't at all, especially after that speech that he-"

"Guys, honestly, the very last thing I'm going to do is pick up a bottle of that _poison_ and get drunk. In fact, that is the whole point."

And it was.

With that, Owen shut the door on the two, still worried looking, faces. He stood there for a moment – justifying his guilt from the action – before he took his hand off the cold handle. With a final glance at the glass on the floor, he gave a heavy breath and snapped back to earth – making his way quickly up the stairs.

-----

The corners of Owen's eyes lifted as his familiar reflection smiled back at him. Though still rather bloodshot, and the skin around them still bore a dark shade – the sparkle and life had finally returned to them; being reflected in both the glass and himself.

Running his eyes up and down the framed glass on his bedroom wall, he actually sensed that he _knew_ that - not only did he _look_ so much better - but he also felt it. The hope in his new plan had run along every nerve in his body, and bringing him to feel awake and in control.

For now he knew that the one thing that had taken months for him to realise, but only a couple of hours to begin to fulfil, was what _really _had been the problem all along.

So Kay was looking for change? So that's all it took for _Michael_ to get her back? Well, he now understood it fully, and he was going to show her what _real_ change was – from the only one who could _really_ do so much for her.

Obviously, the first step was simply appearance. He couldn't even begin to think of change in the skin of a run down man. And he took that step ready for a run – standing in front of his old self in a matter of hours. Washed, shaved, changed, brushed and groomed. Yet, standing in front of his reflection, he knew that his old self was not nearly enough. For, if it were, why would he be standing here – trying to get Kay _back_?

"_He's changed. …He treats me right, like I should be treated…_ _Which is more than you could do."_

How could he have been so stupid as to not see that before? All that arguing couldn't have taken place if he was _perfect_. And, with the amount of arguing that went on, he now knew that he was _far_ from it.

It was his old self that drove Kay away; his old self that didn't treat her as she deserved; his old self that broke her heart – and his old self that was the very reason for him standing in an empty house, doing all that he could to try and get Kay back – from the one man whom he was sure he had saved her from so long ago.

It was his old self that had to go, in order to bring the one woman he loved back.

"_Maybe some men can't change. But it _certainly_ isn't Michael that I'm referring to when I say that."_

Michael hadn't changed – even the words he used to convince her so had been used all that time ago. They were still filled with empty promises, still so full of lies, but still so easy to fall into and believe with a broken heart. However, at the end of the day, that's all they were – words.

And, if, truly, actions _could_ speak louder – he could drown out all the lies and empty promises; he could _show_ her change, and let himself be heard.

* * *

**AN: Okay, I know that the "Haven't you ever wondered why victims of domestic abuse don't just pack up and go – and it all be over?" explanation was pretty short...and poor; but I honestly couldn't fit in a proper look into _that_ subject in a chapter that isn't actually supposed to be based on it xPP That needs a whole chapter for itself really... But I only have 11 to work with, and a proper explanation - though good - would completely stray off the path that has been set ^^ Still, I hope you still got an _idea_ of why - and hopefully enough to understand Kay's situation, and accept it :]**

**Also noticed I accidentally slipped in a bit of Breakeven paraphrasing there. Dunno if you can find it...but I was pretty happy with the fact I've started to inter-weave them :]] Can, however, think of another - pretty big - paraphrase from previous song coming up, so watch out for that ;] **

**Anywho, thanks again for all the time you've given to reading all EIGHT [8??] chapters of mine :DD Coming up to the last three now [*sniff*], and I actually can't believe people have stuck by something that I wrote for this long xPP HUGE, extra, "Thank You!" to all who have reviewed and kept me motivated too!**

**Don't forget to drop a thought and review! Be it love or criticism :D**

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_**

**_I do not own The Script, their album or [sadly] any of their lyrics. I am just another fan that has been inspired._**


	9. Chapter 9

**Anybody There**

"Owen, you look awful."

"Chee, thanks mate, just what I needed to hear. How _did_ you know?" Owen snapped sarcastically, stepping into Liam's hallway. "And what do you mean I look awful? Is my suit dirty or something?" He panicked, looking down to check his blazer.

"No, Owen – your appearance looks fine; haven't actually seen you look that smart in a long time."

"Take some lessons from your wife, Liam, least she knows how to talk to someone." Owen said with a small glare at the man standing beside him. The latter of which, for a moment, looked like he was about to retort – before seeming to think better of it and leaving it with a simple close of the door Owen had stepped through.

With an anxious glance at her husband and the man who had just entered, Demi hesitantly added: "But… Owen, to tell you the truth, you look exhausted. You're clean cut all right, and - from what Liam has told me about the last time he saw you – you do look much better. Your face is clean, your hair is neat, and your clothes are… Smarter than I have ever seen them before; but your eyes give you away - I've never seen them look so tired and worn out." She finished, concern in her voice and face. To which, Owen merely replied with a blink and a turning of his head away from her gaze.

Sensing that his friend was clearly uncomfortable through his mumbled words of 'not getting enough sleep', Liam cleared his throat loudly before suggesting going and sitting down into the living room.

"Or we could go out and get a couple of drinks or something – you seem pretty stressed out." He finished.

Owen looked up and shook his head in firm rejection to the latter suggestion. "No, I'm not drinking anything alcoholic anymore – so it would be pointless."

Liam frowned in confusion. "…Anymore? For what - ever? Owen, it's not like you had a problem or anyth-"

"Yeah, well, I sometimes had the tendency to go over." He snapped. "Plus, in no way am I having a repeat of that night-"

"This hasn't got anything to do with what Michael said, has it?" Liam cut in, still frowning.

"If he's convinced Kay that I'm an alcoholic then-" But Owen cut his sentence short as he saw Liam begin to shake his head in disagreement. "What?" He shot at him.

"Owen, I thought we made it clear – that man just spins words and twists situations in his favour! You shouldn't let-"

"If Kay thinks I'm an alcoholic then I have to prove otherwise." Owen demanded heatedly, before dropping the anger with a running of his hand through his newly cut hair. "Also, I dunno, maybe he did have a point, after all. I mean, Kay wouldn't have - If I wasn't so… Why do you have such a problem with me taking a turn for the better anyway?" He added, finishing his words in sharp retort.

"I'll go get some cups of coffee or something…" Demi said, trying to cut through the rising tension Owen had brought in.

"We'll meet you in the living room." Liam replied, before returning concerned eyes back to his friend. With a small jerk of his head, he signalled Owen to lead him into the room – relaxing only slightly when the latter dropped his arm, and did just so.

"Sorry… I've… I've just been on edge a bit lately with… Everything and all." Owen sighed deeply, rubbing his exhausted eyes once he sat down.

"I can tell." Liam said, sitting down opposite his friend. "What is it that's getting to you? Getting back into work?" He asked, concerned.

"Yeah, guess that's pretty tough."

"Suppose it would be – bit of a change with the structure and all. They aren't giving you too much to do – are they?"

"Well, I have missed a lot… I can deal with it though." He said firmly.

"You sure? It looks like it's gotten you pretty-"

"I can deal with it."

"Right…" Liam said, noticing that he had hit a spot – and deciding to get off it as quickly as possible. "Well you do look much better, proud of you for that – I know that must have been tough."

"Thanks."

"And, also-"

"Why would it have been tough?" Owen cut in sharply, glaring with confusion at Liam.

"I… I don't know, it just is that way – isn't it? Can remember in the past when someone I loved left me, it really didn't feel like making an effort with my appearance mattered at all, and the last thing I felt like doing-"

"Kay hasn't 'left me' – and I can deal with it fine, thank you very much."

"I know you can – you've always been pretty strong-"

"Yeah, I have, so why are you doubting me?"

"I wasn't, I was just-" Liam was thinking frantically to try and fix whatever he had said that was so wrong. "Never mind, I'm sorry." He said quickly, thinking of nothing else to do but to quickly brush over it, to which Owen returned a sceptical nod with a bitter expression.

"So… What else did you say you've been doing? You just said 'change' last time I saw you…" Liam asked hesitantly, praying this question was right.

"Just this and that." He replied, shortly.

"That's informative." Liam couldn't help but smiling slightly – dropping it the moment he saw Owen's expression. "So you said drinking…" He picked up, trying desperately to find anything to keep the conversation going. When no reply came, however, he was forced to elaborate – somehow. "…Can't imagine you're finding that hard. Not like you relied on alcohol to keep you going…"

"No, that's fine."

"Yeah, I can imagine so…" Liam said uncomfortably, his words tailing off as his thoughts hit a brick wall. "Demi, you need help with that coffee?" He hated himself for asking so pointedly to leave his friend, but he couldn't take the sharp atmosphere anymore. He'd never felt this way around Owen – and he didn't want to much longer.

"No, just a minute, dear."

He shifted in his seat in the inescapable silence, thinking of anything to break it – anything at all.

"…Heard you went to visit your parents this week. Everything okay with them?"

"How did you know that?" Owen looked up again, confused.

"Amanda, your sectary, told me when I phoned to see if you were free for lunch – as your mobile was off."

"Oh yeah, sorry – I meant to return that call."

"No worries, I know you've been up to your elbows with work. But visiting your parents during lunch? You hardly ever talk to them in your free time – never mind in the hour between work. Is everything okay?" He asked, concerned again.

"Yes, everything's fine. Just wanted to check up on them. Is that okay with you?"

"Yes…" Liam replied, confused. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well it just seems to be like you want to keep a tab on and control everything I've been doing lately. Just might think you may 'disapprove'."

"I'm just worried-"

"James was right, you do treat me like a kid a lot. Is that what you think of me?"

"No! I just-"

"You do know that just because Kay's left – I can take care of myself right? I am a full grown man – if you haven't noticed." Owen threw bitterly.

"Yes! I didn't mean-"

"'Course you didn't. You never do '_mean'_ any of it. Do you just subconsciously think then that I-"

"Owen! Calm down, I was just asking!" Liam said, panicking.

"Don't you always?" He growled bitterly.

"What's gotten into you, mate? You've never been like this-"

"Like what?"

"Like… Never mind, forget I said anything, okay?"

Owen caught sight of the panic and pleading in his friends eyes and immediately felt guilt wash over him once more. "Right, yeah, sorry – didn't mean to… I've just been pretty stressed out lately."

"I can tell." Liam replied, surprised but relieved with Owen's response. "Listen, don't worry – you can have a cigarette if you need, I'll convince Demi to just-"

"Nah, I'm off them."

"Alcohol _and_ smoking? What are you trying to do, drive yourself insane?" Liam asked with surprise, his eyes reflecting this as he looked at his friend. "You never said anything about Michael bringing up cigarettes last time." He added, confused frown returning.

"No, he didn't – but Kay was complaining about my smoking-"

"Was she? Never heard her say a word about cigarettes before." Demi commented, entering the room with three mugs. "When?"

"A couple of weeks before she… A while ago." Owen replied, shifting in his seat a little, but taking the mug with his hands – an eager distraction from the itch to hold something.

"Did she mention it much?" She asked.

"Well, no. Listen, can we talk about something else?" He requested pressingly, hating the feeling of urgency to smoke – risen only further by the direct topic of it.

"Yes, actually." Liam said, deciding that small talk was getting him nowhere, and the best thing was actually to just get to the point and ask directly. "The whole reason I demanded you finally come here." He began, sitting up sharply again. "A week, Owen! You haven't let us see you – or even _spoken_ to us - for a week! Seriously, you said you'd be fine – so what's actually up with keeping us to guess what's going on?" He demanded pointedly, concern in his words.

"You're making it sound like I've been intentionally trying to block you out!" Owen shot back, anger rising once more as he glared at his friend. "You considered that –perhaps – I've been busy?"

"Of course, Owen. We know what you're going through, and what you've been doing to deal with it but how can you be too busy to even answer a _text_'?" Liam replied, not controlling his frustration as much as he would have liked to.

"Busy trying to pick up the pieces from the acts of complete _stupidity_ I've done over the past month does take a bit of work, you know." He shot. "Remember that I've been busy trying to turn my life around in every single aspect so as to get my _fiancé_ back? Which means I've been busy with work – where they sure aren't too happy with the fact I've been absent for two weeks, busy with family" his voice began to rise "– who seem to know what I'm going through more than _I_ do, busy with the house, my health, my clothes, my appearance, eating, drinking, smoking, working out, finishing every piece of half-arsed crap I promised I'd do – and all the while trying to work out what other fucking thing I need to do to get the one woman I _love_ back!" He yelled. "And _you're_ pissed off because I haven't been spending enough time with you!"

A moment passed where Owen simply stood there in the middle of the room, breathing heavily and glaring at the man in front of him with disgust in his eyes. However, with no response and the pressing silence that stretched out, he simply closed his eyes against the stillness before breathing angrily and opening them once more, beginning to walk out.

"You've actually lost it." Liam said, his voice filled with disbelief, his posture stunned into stillness – still staring blankly into the spot Owen has stood just before. "I mean – James kept noting on it when you were sat outside that café for days on end – but, I refused to believe him… I was sure it was just-"

"Once again, thanks for the support, _mate_." He spat, swivelling around to face the man once more. "Knew it was a mistake coming here, but I decided to anyway, just to shut you up."

"You decided to come here just to shut me up?" Liam retorted, his voice – for the first real time – beginning to rise with rage. "You think you're doing _us_ a favour by coming round, so we could see how _you_ were!" He stood up, his eyes glaring right into Owen's, who returned the expression right back.

"Well you wouldn't actually leave me alone – would you! Every day you'd call me up, leave a dozen texts, even send your _wife_ round as I was leaving for work!"

"Guys-"

"It's called being worried about a _friend_ who had previously spent a week living on the street, followed by a night of getting completely wasted, _followed_ by getting his heart _dragged_ through gravel until it's so torn that it may seem beyond repair – and hasn't even assured his friends he was at _least_ alive - for a whole week!"

"Guys-!"

"Assure you I was 'alive'! So you _do _think I can't take care of myself now that Kay's gone?" Owen threw at him, his face inches away from Liam now. "You know what? This is pointless. There's a thousand things I could be doing right now, and I don't need to hear the shit from a man who knows nothing about what he's talking about."

"Owen, I am now so _sick_ of your whole 'misunderstood', completely _selfish_ attitude." Liam hissed in his face, anger being thrown sharply with every word. "I've tried to keep my calm and be empathetic, but all James and I ever do is try our _best_ to help you out – only to get it all thrown right back at us. Have _you_ even considered that maybe we're busy too? Maybe _we_ have things to sort out? We, if you haven't noticed, also have jobs and families and other commitments; but we thought it better to try and help our closest friend through the unbelievable pain he is in. Yes you've been through so much shit recently, Owen, but we have taken the time and care out of our lives to try and go through it with you, as we thought the _last_ thing you needed was to be alone. And this is the thanks we get? Being thrown aside whenever something new caught your eye, or – when there were no actual distractions – you treat us like this? Grow up, Owen, and finally get it into your head that – contrary to your belief – the world does not revolve around you!"

Silence comes in many forms, but none shout with such rage as the one that fell between the two men then and there. It's rage stood there, reflected in their eyes, and, seeing the face of the man in front of him - with rage whispering in his ear so - Owen knew exactly what it wanted him to do. What he wanted to do. Heart pounding in his ears, he wanted to show Liam exactly what he felt right now – and let the violence of rage take over.

He hated everything about the man stood in front of him – everything he represented. Who was he to tell him what to feel?

Who were _they_ to tell him how to feel?

So _empathetic_, so _understanding_.

Bullshit.

The last words that had penetrated the air proved just so. _Owen_ – selfish?

Selfish for what? Getting his heart ripped out of his chest – again and again? Oh yeah, real selfish.

He hadn't _asked_ for their help – they just knocked down his walls and forced him to accept it. And now _he_ was the selfish one, the villain in all of this?

'_Fuck them.'_

The last thing he needed right now was this waste of time – and spending a minute longer in it was only making every part of it worse.

"Guys! You're being completely ridiculous!" Demi shouted, standing up in frustration as Owen turned from his friend with such hatred in his eyes, making his way towards the door.

"Am I? How long exactly did you think I could take all this _shit_? I've had enough, Demi."

Owen froze, body stunned into numbness as his heart almost stopped.

"Both of you are!" Demi said with exasperation. "Liam, this is your _friend_ here! Sure he's a bit on edge right now – but can you honestly blame him? The amount he's been through in these past few weeks and the amount of stress he's been under is honestly enough to break anyone!"

"'_A bit on edge!_'" Liam retorted, turning round to face his wife, "He's being completely unbelievable! We get driven out of our minds with worry and extend everything we have to help and he thanks us like this? 'A bit on edge' is being short, perhaps – a little snappy – not full blown rage at the people trying to help him!"

"Okay, bad choice of words to use." Demi admitted, "But, Liam, you were little better when you quit smoking, and did you hear everything that's been putting pressure on him this past week? He's expecting to be able to do _everything_ at once, and he sure is attempting it all. Liam, can't you understand how that may make a person feel?"

"Taking it all out on the people that are trying everything to help him though?"

Owen closed his eyes against the scene behind him and the words of the two people finally began to sink in through his darkness. "He has nobody else to take it out on, Liam."

"Well I'm so glad we're here to be his punch bag then."

"You'd rather him take it out on himself like he's done so many times before?"

"Well, no – but it's like he's completely ignored everything that we've done since Kay walked out!"

"Since when did you do this for the gratitude? Surely helping someone should have their happiness in top priority – not the glory you get for it."

"Never! But I do expect to not get treated like some inconvenient piece of crap on his shoe that's just holding him back. Is it too much to ask for now, to be treated with the same respect you have given?"

"No, but don't expect it all in one go and immediately-"

"…Is that really the way I've treated you?" Owen had turned around; back against the door as he looked at the scene, heart thumping.

"No, you haven't – he's just being-"

"Actually…"

Owen's head turned to the figure of the man he had known for years, suddenly so lost in the company he used to call home.

"You've just called us caring about you, and doing a _huge_ amount this past month for you, 'completely pointless'. How on Earth is that treating us fairly?" Liam snapped – much shaper than Owen would have liked.

"You haven't done that much…" Owen said weakly, swallowing. "It's only been three weeks – half of which I was sat on a street corner, so you wouldn't-"

"_Only_ three weeks?" Liam replied in disbelief. "Do you honestly think that the times we weren't round – or calling you – we just got on with normal life?" He threw at him, completely in shock that he had to explain this. "You honestly think that you're the only one that's been losing sleep over this time? As if we haven't constantly been trying to find _any_ way of fixing this! And don't even begin to think that that week and a half was easy for us. Why would we phone you about ten times a day if we didn't care about it? Why do you think we tried _everything_ to get you to stop? Because at moments we literally feared for your life, Owen!"

"For my _life_?"

"When you go sitting on a bloody street corner, with nothing but a sleeping bag to protect you, there seems to be no limit to what you might try. Plus, it's hardly a safe environment to live in. Did you ever consider that we paid full attention to the weather forecast every day – praying that they were wrong, this time, every time they predicted rain? And food, water, physical things you need to actual stay alive?"

"The waitress-"

"Was the only comforting thing about it. Still doesn't make the whole thing sane or right. And that's just the tip of it all. What you put yourself through afterwards was even worse. What do you actually think it's like for _us_, the people who genuinely care about you, to watch you drown yourself in alcohol – knowing that if we hadn't turned up that day, things would have gotten much worse? We've seen you before, and we know you completely give into your emotions and forget what your brain is telling you. So what the hell do you think would be going through our heads when your emotions are unbearable for _any_ person – never mind someone who amplifies them as much as you do?

Face it, Owen. You were just so caught up in your own world, _letting_ yourself drown so far, you forgot about the people around you – and how you were affecting _them_."

Another form of silence. The one that is the sound of you being shaken to the chore – watching what you thought was reality fall around you.

"So what, I ask," Owen began, breathing heavily, "_is the fucking point_?" He shouted, a new form of anger building up. "What the _hell _is the point of this all? Am I being tested? Am I supposed to come out of this better – stronger? Is this some _twisted_ challenge for me to see if I am strong enough for something? Well what if I'm done with this all? Show me the exit sign! I want _out_!"

"You're still acting like the victim in all of this…!"

"Well wouldn't you, Liam? Every single road I take just leads me to this dead end! And every time I think I've found something that will work to break through – a new opening - it just seems to lead me to a new wall, so much thicker than the one before!"

"Sure I'd feel lost, confused and _incredibly_ angry – but I would recognise when someone is trying to help me and wouldn't treat them as if they are part of the problem or just spare parts that are in the way!"

Grabbing his newly cut hair in exasperation, Owen shouted, "I know! Liam, I know! And I'm sorry! I was so concentrated on pushing my foot on the pedal and watching the speedometer rise at a ridiculous level, I never noticed that I had accidentally pushed the gear into reverse. And you stood there, watching me, trying to constantly warn me where I was going, only to see me crash. But did I even try to accept help? No. I just decided to throw all my anger at the last people who deserved it! And now I've crashed – because it's taken me to so long to realise that really, it is all _my_ fucking fault!

"Everything I do, every road I take, just ends me in deeper shit than I was in before! And you're right – because how could I be the victim when I was the one who shut everyone out that was trying to help me? Even when I thought I was doing better – changing everything and getting rid of the bad – I just managed to become worse than I already was! I became so obsessed with changing, with doing something new that I _felt_ would work, I began to lose sight of what was real – ignoring my head completely. I squashed those worries and convinced myself they were doubts – something that I would have to overcome to get what I felt I needed. Like those disgustingly muscled body builders, so obsessed with making themselves fitter – and in their eyes, better – they actually can't stop. Because, ironically, by getting rid of all those habits – it was just creating a new addiction that I felt I depended on. If one thing didn't bring her back, then – surely – the next one would.

"And look where it's got me! By putting everything I have in, trying so hard to get what my heart wanted and so sure my cards were right this time, I began to actually lose it all. Because now the cards have been folded and I can see it all being dragged away from me.

"But, no, Liam, I am no longer viewing myself as the victim – because _I_ was the one that placed that bet."

"Owen, calm down – you haven't lost us and you weren't going to. Yes, you got a little carried away, but you realise that now so there's no need to get so worked up." Demi said, laughing a little with exasperation.

"I was beginning to though. You're right – I have never treated you like I have this past month, and if I carried on it could have been it. Today's just proof! I've never spoken to you guys like that – felt such fury as I have today!"

"You're exhausted, stressed out and the things you normally rely on to calm you down have been taken away from you. Demi was right, you have an excuse."

"But _why_ is that excuse there? Because _I_ was the one to take those things away from me! It isn't really an excuse because if it wasn't for my _stupid_ decisions, I wouldn't be like this!"

"Now you're just putting too much blame on yourself. It's as if you've suddenly lost sight of why you were doing all of it." Liam said, running a hand through his hair as he watched his friend jump back and forth through ever emotion and every thought in such a small time span.

"How is turning myself into _this_ going to bring a woman back who deserved so much more? Even if I did reach 'perfection' enough to bring her back – at what cost would it be? I would have her, but not the people who put so much into getting me through the moments when she wasn't there. And I would wake up one day, realizing this, making me feel more alone in the heaven that I had ached for than I was in the hell in which I had so longed to escape!"

For the third time that afternoon, nobody spoke. Though this time it was not rage or fear that filled the silence, but merely the sound of each person thinking as Owen's words sunk in.

"But… What… If I can't do that… Then what do I do next…?" He asked, realisation of how lost he now was sinking in with his words. With no direction or clue of where to go next, he had hit another dead end.

Demi swallowed, glancing at Liam before answering. "You know, Owen, you've been putting far too much on yourself. It isn't your fault-"

"It isn't my fault that a wonderful, patient, woman got driven out of her home? Driven away by the man she loved? How is that _not_ my fault?"

"Because a relationship consists of more than one person." She answered shortly.

"I know. And I drove the other person away because-"

"You really think you could have so many arguments if it was only you that was doing wrong? An argument happens because _both_ people think they are right – and are too stubborn to see the other side."

"No, I was the stubborn one refusing to see the right way that she was holding - as I was too busy in my little world to see the truth, Demi."

"Every time?" Liam asked. "In the months of then all, _every_ single one was all your fault?"

"Yeah – well – maybe – why not?"

"Because Kay's human, and as are you! You _both_ make mistakes."

"What the hell are you getting at? _She _left _me_! How is that her fault!"

"How is it all your fault? You are a great man who loved her so much, and chose to show this to her so often. Who else would sit on a street corner to wait for someone who left them? How is that not showing that you love her?"

"I only did that to show her that I had _changed_ – because I _didn't_ treat her like she deserved."

"Didn't you? After everything you did – after all the sick days, after all the moments in the rain, after all the sleepless nights? Sure you did wrong at time – but we all do, it's what being human is about."

"Are you blind! If I was so 'great' – and my only flaw was being 'human' – then how does that drive a loving person away? I've had so much time to think these past few weeks – and I've realised just how much I've done wrong!"

"You're acting as if she didn't ever do _anything_ wrong _at all_ though! Kay had her flaws, as did you, but you are not 100% to blame for this. And it's this sureness that you were that has driven you so low!"

"You're telling me that I treated her _fairly_?" Owen asked, never feeling as confused as he did now – angry at how much his best friend had completely missed the point. Sure there was kindness, trying to make someone feel better – but there's a point where it just turns into downright lies.

"Okay, not every second of the day – who can? You think Demi and I never make mistakes? Never argue? Never do, or say, something that we didn't mean? No! Because that's what a real relationship is all about!"

"But you're still together so there has to be a balance! I must have tipped the scales somehow to get Kay to leave!"

"And there is no way that could ever be anyone else that tipped the scales but you?" Demi said nervously, quickly glancing at her husband again.

"Well she was the one that got driven away, no?" Answered Owen firmly.

"And that _has_ to be because of something you did?" Liam asked.

"Yes! Where have you been all this time!"

"I used to be one of her best friends, remember? So she-" Demi began, before being interrupted by Owen.

"Exactly, so you of all people should know. She must have come to you so many times-"

"You know we've drifted recently." She brushed away the comment with a sweep of her hand. "But there was never actually a point where she came to me because she felt you were so bad that-"

"Guys! What is your point here! To make me feel better? Because you're really just confusing me in all senses now! To make me stop this obsessive changing? I thought we had already sorted that out! Can you please tell me what the hell is going on!" Owen shouted, almost pleading in confusion.

Another glace. "It's just-"

"Stop beating around the bush guys!" Owen said, beginning to panic slightly. What on Earth could be so awful that they had to hold back so much on?

"I think you should sit back down for this…" Liam said, apprehensively.

"…Why?"

"Just… This isn't exactly going to be easy, so…"

Owen blinked, his heart beginning to thump loudly – as if it was trying to escape, as if it knew it about to get so hurt again. He slowly maked his way back to his seat, watched Liam rest on the armrest of his as his wife sat down too. She looked him in the eyes for a second, before avoiding them fully - wrapping her hands around her, now cold, mug as a distraction.

"There's been another reason why we tried so desperately to get hold of you – why Demi even came round to try and talk."

Owen frowned. "Okay…"

"You're completely right in the fact that we are friends - and though we aren't as close as we used to be – we still talk." She said into her mug. "So, naturally, when I saw she was with Michael - the same day you did, I think - I needed to know exactly why she would go back to him - after everything that she told me about the man."

"Yeah, she told me." Owen jumped in, feeling even more confusion as he was sure Liam knew that Kay had already told his this. "She said that he had changed."

"That isn't enough to take someone who hurt you so back."

"Well, obviously. But she was so broken when she walked out that it was easy to let someone presumably caring in." He argued, his answer so sure after so many thoughts of this in sleepless nights.

"Like a rebound – you would say?" Liam asked, watching his friend.

"Exactly! Michael was just this complex rebound because she was so hurt and venerable!"

Another silence, now stiff and hesitant.

"Owen, can you tell me about the first time you and Kay kissed?" Demi broke the silence, still staring into her mug.

Shocked by this question, he asked, "What's that got anything to do with-?"

"Just… Answer the question." Liam interrupted.

"We were sitting outside _The Cross Keys_ the January before last…"

"But you didn't know each other then, really."

"Well, no. But she was upset and we began talking-"

"About what?"

"She was telling me about Michael and everything that he had done to her…" Owen said, still no idea where this was heading.

"So you would say that she was pretty broken then, right?" Liam asked.

"Well, yeah! How could she not be? But as the night went on-"

"And she was upset, and venerable and she so easily let you in…"

"She needed someone to talk to and I was the one that happened to be there, yeah!" He sat up, glaring at Liam. "Plus, I had just gone trough a pretty messy break-up myself, so I kind of knew what she was going through-"

"So she was broken and venerable – and there you were, the kind, caring, understanding man that was also – single?"

"Yes – and then she-" Owen froze, realisation hitting him. "Are… Are you suggesting…?"

"Owen, what if you were the one at the right place, in just the right time?" He turned his head to see Demi, finally looking up at him – his heart banging even more as he saw that her eyes were now glazed with tears. "What if it was never Michael that had caught her with such a broken heart? What if _he_ was never the rebound? What if you-"

"So I was at the right place at the right time!" He shouted, blocking out her words. "What does that prove! That wasn't just some random kiss! It lead to something, Demi! We were – we _are_ – engaged!"

"I'm so sorry, Owen but it can be so easy to fool a broken heart into love…"

"Why are you talking about being fooled? Kay _loves_ me! There's no fooling involved! _She said 'Yes'_!"

"I think that's what she realised shortly afterwards. What she had done-"

"What she had done was say yes to us getting married! _Because she loves me_!" Owen stood up in frustration and anger – shouting fully again. "Liam! Say something!" He turned in panic, pleading for Demi to be straightened out – for Liam to disagree.

"I think she woke up one morning and it hit her to what she had agreed to – and that hit so hard that it became clear who she really loved-"

"Which is me!"

"Rebound love is hardly ever real, Owen."

"No!" He yelled, now frantic. "Because rebound love isn't involved here! She does _actually_ love me! Maybe not in the beginning but… I was going through a break-up too – and I haven't 'fooled' myself!" He threw in, desperate for proof that the two were wrong.

"You were a much more stable person and the worst of your break-up had already passed." Liam explained painfully.

"Much more stable?" He contradicted quickly. "You said it yourself that I'm not good with things like that! Look at the past month!"

"You weren't engaged to Tara though. You didn't love her nearly as much as you do Kay. And this night was recent to it – but far enough for you to think rationally. Kay, however, had her heart ripped _that night_-"

"So what! How does that prove she never loved me! You can't just assume-" He bellowed.

"Because she told me." Owen turned sharply to face Demi, a tear now halfway down her cheek.

"She…told you…?" Owen repeated hoarsely. Demi nodded, unable to speak.

"When?" He asked weakly, not enough circulation to say any more.

"I'm so sorry Owen…"

"WHEN!"

"Last week – I went around the day after you did."

"And she told you…?"

"Yes. I'm so s-" she said, her voice breaking even more.

"I don't believe you." Owen hissed.

"Neither could I – so I went round myself and asked." Owen turned to see his best friend's face taught and looking like he was about to throw up from the words he had just spoken.

"And…?"

The silence that Liam gave then was harsher than if he had actually said anything. For words can be argued with, blocked out – or disbelieved. But you cannot ignore a silence, you cannot trick your mind to hear it differently, convince it that it was heard wrongly. The only thing you can do is attempt to drown it out – with the loudest sound you can make. But it always returns, in the end. And it did then. When the house he had left had stopped shaking, when the deafening slam of the door had faded – and when the sound of a coffee table shattering as it was kicked aside in fury had escaped his ringing ears – that was what he was left with. The silence that surrounded him as he entered his empty house – and the inescapable truth it brought with it.

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**ANs: THANK GOSH IT'S FINISHED! XD**

**(The chapter, not the story, Mintiee xPP)  
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**This chapter took far too, far too long to write. I had this whole idea of what to put in the ANs, and even could just fill it with explanations of why it took so long - but I've thought of something far better. Because there are a couple of people there who really, truley, need thanking. (So if you don't like this sort of thing, skip to the * - this may be long xPP) Because they were, not only patient, but they were incredibly motivating and helpful. They always made me feel I could finish it, and really should. In a world that finds it so easy to bring you down and tempt you to giving up - than you for being the ones to constantly bring me up and convince me to continue. How do you thank someone properly for making sure you didn't give up? xPP**

**Er... I did have this whole thing for each person...but that was just about as long as the actual chapter. Whoops. So I'll just name them here and PM/review reply/email them the whole reasons :)**

**(Because they deserved to be named in...public?)  
**

**Anywho, thank you _PalmTree_,****_ Aneko24, Mintiee_x and_ ****_BeccaHeartsAckles._**

**(all Fictionpress)**

**-  
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**Anywho, what did you think? **

**Any comments on the twist? (Any as in any. Could be comments on plot or way it was delivered)**

**Also, any comments on length?**

**Oh yeah - I'm also beginning to tie up everything now. So if you know of any loopholes or questions I need to deal with - please say so :)**

**Thanks again to everyone. Thank you for the time you give up for me and the care to read so much. Wouldnt, at all, be writing without you.**

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**_Disclaimer:_**

**_I do not own The Script, their album or [sadly] any of their lyrics. I am just another fan that has been inspired._**


	10. Chapter 10

**Eep! Sorry for taking so long to update! But I do actually have a good reason this time ^^ Basically, I had so, so much to fit into this song – so it has had to be split up into three chapters. Unless, of course, you want one bloody huge one. **

**I'll explain more at the end of the chapter, but for now, I'll shut up here and let you read :)**

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**The End Where I Begin [I]**

"Well… This wasn't exactly the way I had planned this…"

"_Is…?"_

"_I mean, I had it all planned out and it was going to be by the river at the perfect moment where everything was right – but then it started raining and I couldn't exactly let you stand in the rain getting soaked while-"_

"_Owen-"_

"_And now you're all wet anyway and this is hardly romantic – at _all_, never mind 'enough' – and it completely ruins everything that - it's just I had planned it all and it was so perfect - and really the moment has to be perfect and romantic or otherwise-"_

"_You're not even making sense now-"_

"_Do that again."_

"_What?"_

"_Laugh."_

"_Okay, now you're really not making sense. Why do you want me to laugh?"_

"_It calms me down. It always has, you know that."_

"_Shut up, charmer."_

"_Ah, but you love it, Kay."_

"_Yes… Well… Uh…"_

"_Well it's hardly a surprise now, is it?"_

"_Believe me, I'm surprised."_

"_Really? Well, either way I'd better do this properly so…"_

"_Oh my gosh…. You're down on one knee and everything…"_

"_Kay, I've stumbled through life thinking I knew everything there is to know about love. About how things go and what you should feel. I always thought it so one-dimensional, that you can only love somebody in a single way – until I met you. _

_You taught me how you can love someone in so many ways apart from the obvious. You showed me that, as well as a girlfriend to love romantically, you could be loved as a real _friend_. Something I never knew could be possible, a trust I had never known. _

_We met at a time of pain and ever since then you have given all to comfort me. Not only that, but you could make me laugh – on a daily basis. You could inspire me and have given me hope – even when I was so sure there was none. I want to spend the rest of my life repaying you for that, Kay, and to make sure you never feel pain of any sort again – as you have been the reason so much of mine has gone._

_You've shown me that I can love you as a girlfriend, a best friend and someone to trust on to no ends. Please, Kay, would you give me the honour of showing me how I can, so easily, love you as a wife? Will you marry me?"_

"_Wow…"_

"_Kay?"_

"_Owen, of course I w-"_

"Comfy down there, are you?"

Owen eyes snapped open as he sat up sharply.

"Fuckin' hobo." The teenage laugh faded as his car drove off, whilst the piercing sound of the horn left Owen's ears.

Though now alone again, he cleared his throat and straightened himself up, looking around to check for anyone else nearby as embarrassment crept up his face. He felt like this was a moment of incredible weakness for him, to be here, and therefore wanted nobody to catch him sitting where he was. After everything that he had done, he wanted to appear better, stronger – and sitting in front of this café made him feel like the venerable guy, deep down, he couldn't escape that he was. That guy did not need to be displayed.

But, just like the last time, he could think of nowhere else to go right now. Well, actually, there were hundreds of places to go – but this just seemed the _best_. The familiarity that it held, together with the fact that if anyone was to go looking for him, they wouldn't think to go _here_ after moving on - and of course the quietness of the place at 10 o'clock at night, made it the perfect spot to do what he had yearned to do for so long now. Think.

No one around to distract him, no phone there to ring incessantly with friends and sellers. Just Owen, his thoughts, and the concrete of the pavement.

He was incredibly grateful for the fact that he had been given a whole month with too many interruptions for him to have the time, or energy, to do so, however. It truly did show him how far his friends would go for his well-being. Okay, 90% of the reason for them taking so much of his time was probably out of worry and/or slight paranoia, but they had good reason to think so. For, if they hadn't kept him so busy, he would have had enough time to really think. And the state his mind was in then probably would have lead to yet another act of desperation.

To an outsider, the hold they kept on Owen may have seemed a little drastic, but in the past two months he had proven he may have needed it. As well as everything he did in the first of the two, the week following it was even worse. For after Demi's news of how Kay felt, Owen had decided that if she could feel nothing – then he was allowed to do so too. Thinking was one of the last options, then, as that was what was causing him to feel so much. So he allowed himself to block all chances of thinking out, instead replacing it with the throbbing headaches of the mornings after.

And yet, he was lucky in the thought that one of these first nights (apparently) involved a very drunk phone call, which had alerted Liam just how well giving him 'personal space' was going. Because, since then, he, James and Demi had done their best to bring Owen back to the real world, finally bringing him out of the bubble that he had trapped himself in.

At first he was extremely reluctant to let them do so, feeling that personal space was exactly what he needed. But they didn't listen and spent a week making sure he had next to none of it. What they did, looking back, was exactly the same as what the alcohol did – but without the destructive affects. By keeping him so busy, they distracted him from the situation, they forced him to think about anything, and everything, else.

Owen sighed and dug a hand into the front jeans pocket, slowly taking out his old wallet.

The weeks that they had given him after that were pretty much the same – with the change of how much Owen _wanted_ to get involved increasing as each day went by. He found out that distracting his mind from the pain did not need to include self-destruction, and embraced the new distractions whole-heartedly. It had been an incredible month of external recovery – bringing him back to Earth and life.

But, as strong as he was now on the outside, they couldn't stop his mind going over everything at night, whilst he lay alone in the darkness of an empty house. With his normal life back on track, he was busy enough to need to sleep every night, but the hour in which he lay in bed – that was when external help and distractions stopped. For an hour every single night he was forced to face exactly the situation he was in, with nothing to distract or turn to. And every emotion felt in this hour kept his mind in darkness and his core lost.

Opening up the wallet carefully, he pulled out the object that proved just so.

The fact that he was here, holding onto the small ring, proved how he just couldn't let her go. And, as he had done every night the past two months, he held it up and watched the light reflect of it.

He just couldn't accept it. Her never actually loving him was simply a thought that didn't fit with the solidity of the ring.

It was right there, in front of him, solid proof that she loved him. That just couldn't compare to the words of Demi. For, no matter how much they haunted his mind, he couldn't grasp the idea.

_It's pretty solid proof that she is back with Michael._ He couldn't escape the truth of that.

But it just _couldn't _be because she loved him more than she did Owen. After everything Michael had done to her, after everything Owen had done for her, she couldn't put Michael above him. He wouldn't accept it, because – to him, it didn't make sense.

And most of all, if it were true - if she never _actually_ loved him - then why was he missing her so much? How could there be justice if she was the one who kept his mind reeling every night – without her mind doing the same?

Was that the case? Has she spent every night exactly the same as he had? Has she been lying still, staring up at the ceiling, as the clock moved on?

If so, then was everything that Owen had been doing these past two months right? Was him spending so much time recovering actually the was he should have spent his time?

…What if all this time, when he had begun to feel happiness again, Michael had been causing her pain?

His jaw clenched at the thought. The thought of his body against hers. The thought of everything he had done to her before. The thought of it repeating. Has he just become worse than Michael ever was? Not only driving her away – but letting that _man_ get into her head again?

What if all this time she had been in pain, and he hadn't the decency to help her? To let her _know_ that Michael was not the one to go to when in need.

He'd made a promise, with this ring, that he would spend the rest of his life taking _away _the pain. Not being the cause. What if the fact that he had this ring was not a sign that _her _promise had broken – but sign that his had?

But… What if everything that his friends had told him were true?

His eyes shifted focus from the ring to see the buildings across the dark street. To where he saw her all that time ago. To when _he_ put his arm around her, and she was happy. What if every day had been exactly the same? What if they had been living in two completely separate worlds all this time – but Owen just couldn't tell because of the traffic blocking his view?

What if every night that he lay awake – be it in his cold bed or thin sleeping bag – she had been sleeping soundly? Her mind completely at rest. Away from the man that she didn't love – never had – and sleeping next to the one that her heat belonged to.

So, if that were true, would that mean everything he was doing now was completely right? Was moving on and healing, learning to be happy once more, really the right path to take?

His eyes shifted focus back to the small ring.

But… If that were true – then why would it hurt so much?

If this was the right path, then why did stones stab at his feet with every step and twigs tear his skin? Why was there such a yearning to go back? If it was right, then why did he miss her so much?

Why did his heart sink every morning when he woke up to face an empty space next to him? Why was he constantly expecting to return home from work to see her at home, happy to see him? Why did his heart skip a beat every time he saw a woman with the same colour hair, or eyes?

If this was right, then why was he still buying her things he thought she might like – not realising this until he got home and unpacked the shopping? Why did he still hope so strongly that it was her name that flashed up whenever his phone rang? How come he still missed the simple sound of her voice?

Her scent?

Her touch?

With every day that went past, the hole in his heart expanded – fully aware that a vital part was missing. If this was right, why did it hurt so much?

Or was the pain he felt a warning? A warning to go back – that he's on the wrong track and letting her go was the biggest mistake of his life?

He felt like he was at the last fork in the road – the last chance to change his mind. And, although right above him there were signs telling him which turn is which – which would lead to happiness, and which would lead to pain, each was written in a totally different language, neither of which he could read.

He closed his eyes against the whole thing in frustration. Thing was – the fact remained that he couldn't simply show up in front of her, again. He couldn't prove that he had changed, that he knew his mistakes and was determined to never do them again – and keep his promise; because it would only make him appear as a complete hypocrite, the last type of person that Kay wants and deserves. Michael had made sure of that.

But was stepping down and moving on really the right thing to be doing? The correct path to take?

Love is blind, but signposts don't come in Braille. He was forced to trust what he felt to guide him through; but how could he when he couldn't tell if the bricks his hands were pressed upon were a dead end – a sign to go back – or if he were to simply edge on a bit further, he could find an open door?

Kay would know…

The irony of it all. That the voice he had trusted so much for a year to guide him through the dark was gone. The one that he had learned to turn to with these kinds of things was the one that had now gotten him so lost. Sure he loved his friends, who had been through it _all_ with him, but they just seemed so sure that here was only one option. The most painful one to accept as true.

There was also the only reoccurring thought that kept him in this view, the one question that had been circulating around his head every day since Demi had spoken. Because, if it were true, then – honestly – '_what would be the point of it all?'_

'All the l-'

"Oh, no, Owen…"

Turning his head, he sprang up to his feet, hurriedly trying his best to pull his act of a man in control together, as he stood to face her. Unable to shove the ring in his pocket quick enough, he clenched it in his fist so as to hide it from her view – feeling like a child caught in attempt to fix something that he had broken, so desperate for nobody to find out about the accident in the first place.

"No, no – I was just… Erm… I just needed to-" He half mumbled, embarrassment fogging up him mind. "How are you?" He finished in desperate attempt to change the subject.

"I'm fine." She replied slowly, worriedly looking him up and down. "But I was sure – you haven't been here for months, I mean. I was sure you have sorted everything out. _Are you_ okay?"

"Course I am! Why wouldn't I be?" He did his best to try and feign confusion, praying she would somehow buy it and walk away.

"It's just, the last time you were here, you-"

"No, no. It's nothing like that. I just…um…"

He watched the waitress' posture drop a little in an inward sigh, as if he could see her heart sinking at the sight of him so flustered after so long. "I won't judge." She said, softly.

He knew that this part was neither convincing nor working. Dropping the act with a sigh, he slipped back into he own character, somewhat dropping his guard as he did so. "Listen, I just… Needed a place to think."

"And you couldn't have done that at home?" Hailey asked, shifting her bag slightly.

Owen fidgeted slightly in his stance. "It becomes very hard to think straight in that place, after a short amount of time." '_Too many memories pinned on the walls and ghosts living there to ever feel alone and uninterrupted.'_

"So you decided to come here again? Surely this place is just as bad…"

"It's familiar." Owen shrugged. "Plus I just needed some peace for a while." He dug his free hand into his pocket, shifting slightly as he began to feel extremely stupid for even thinking of coming here.

"I could open up the café, again, if you like. Have some peace without freezing your limbs off."

Owen looked at the waitress, memories of everything she had done for him before flooding his mind. "No, I really don't want to bother you again. You've really done enough. Thank you." He said, giving a small smile as he turned to walk away from the place, feeling an idiot. "It's getting late, anyway, and you've just locked up – it isn't in my right to keep you from going home."

He was just about to cross the road, trying to get away from the spot as quickly as possible, before she called him back suddenly.

"Seriously, I don't-" He turned around to face her again, wanting nothing more than to just go. What made her so eager to do so much for him, anyway?

'_Probably thinks you so pathetic you actually need it all, you know.'_

"I'll be fine, Hailey." He added hastily, trying to block out his last thought.

"It's just…" She seemed to battle with herself for a moment before continuing softly with: "Please can you come inside for just a second? There's something I think you really need to see."

Confused, he came forwards. "Like what?"

"Well…um…" She paused for a second before, "sorry, this is going to sound really random to you."

"Right…"

"But, when you were here – two months ago, I mean – do you remember that robbery that happened to the shop, just down the road?"

"Yes…" He answered hesitantly as he watched her begin to open the door to the café.

"See, the police asked me to check our CCTV camera footage from a couple of weeks surrounding the robbery, shortly after you left-"

"You're not suggesting _I_-!" Owen interrupted, stunned by the accusation.

"No! No, I know you wouldn't do that – you're not _that_ kind of crazy."

"Chee, thanks." He replied, but smiling slightly.

"Welcome." She said, causing a warm glow to fall over the pavement as she switched the lights on, making her way in. Reluctant yet curious, Owen had no choice but to follow her in.

"But, anyway – I did." She continued, "And-" she turned to face him, surprising Owen by her sudden nervous expression. "What's actually happened with you and her – since you were here, I mean." She added quickly, after a small pause.

Owen stood there in the cold room as he contemplated what to say. So many nights he had gone over the events in his mind, he would have no trouble practically acting it all out for her – word for word. But the small pain in his palm reminded him how very real it was, how sharp and genuine his emotions were – and, in all truth, it still hurt him now. The sharp edge had been taken off, but it still very much dug into him. Telling her fully would be like holding his hand out to her, showing her the broken object he hadn't finished fixing. And, at the end of the day, he didn't know her nearly as well enough to show her something as personal as that.

"Um…" Owen began, noticing that they were both standing in silence, waiting for him to speak. "Long story short, we're not together – if that's what you mean." He chose to tell her, rubbing his neck slightly with his free hand.

She studied him for a second, looking as if she was regretting more and more her decision to bring him in, with every passing minute. "Okay – I guess that does make it easier…" She said quickly to herself, but loud enough that Owen caught it, confused. "And – erm – well, listen; this isn't going to be easy in any way." She said directly to him with a sigh, her eyes full of pain.

"Right…" He brought his hand down slowly, forcibly being reminded of Demi's words.

"It's just I had to look over some footage from the time you were there, and… Well, I'll go get it for you." She finished, beginning to rummage in her bag for something.

Owen watched her pull out another set of keys and, very hesitantly, turn around to walk behind the sparkling counters. She seemed to have then made up her mind firmly about something, as he watched her now confidently unlock a thin door and step though it, into – what looked like – a dark cupboard, lit only by the light bouncing off the café walls.

Owen moved towards the counters and stood behind a seat opposite to the open walk-in cupboard. He lent onto the counter and placed his hand on the cool countertop, feeling the metal ring slide on the soft surface as he moved his sweaty palm slightly across the polished wood, thinking.

"Here we go." He bumped back to Earth after a moment or so as Hailey walked out of the cupboard, holding a small disk, shining brightly as it reflected the light.

"Listen, Owen…" She began, taking a slow breath as he looked at her with full attention. "…I'm doing this in full belief that – sometimes – the truth is the best thing for a broken heart – even if it's so harsh that it shatters it." She took a deep breath in as Owen stood up straight. "Because at least all lies and misconceptions will leave too – and then you can, truly, begin to heal."

Completely thrown aback by this, Owen could do nothing but stand there in silence, looking straight at her with hand still flat against the countertop – now completely still.

With the silence stretching out, Hailey realised that, as much as she hated it, Owen was clearly not going to say something to this – or he was waiting for her to go on.

"Just… Watch it. And know that I'm only giving you this because I know that some good will come out of it." She said, beginning to hand it to his hand on the counter, which he quickly clenched the ring back into, and took the disk with his free hand.

"About half an hour in. I'm so sorry, Owen."

-----

Closing his eyes briefly, Owen pushed the small eject button again. He had no idea why he was actually doing this, it was bound to be nothing short of awkward, but the pain in Hailey's eyes as she gave him the disk have him a sort of sickening curiosity. Everything, from the moment she had called him back from the curb, told him that this was not going to be something he would enjoy – but something about it all made the disk impossible to ignore.

"_I'm doing this in full belief that – sometimes – the truth is the best thing for a broken heart – even if it's so harsh that it shatters it."_

He opened his eyes again to see the tiny draw slide and click shut, lifting his head up slightly to watch the screen as it loaded. Crouched on his toes, he kept his hand on the player, ready to remove the disk from it at any point, feeling stupid already for doing this. But, as the familiar street appeared on his TV screen – a view from far up, but so clear it could almost be a window in his living room – his finger moved from the eject button and instead pressed the one that caused time on the dark street to move tenfold.

"About half an hour in…" He thought aloud, watching the small numbers on the top of the screen wiz forwards, the seconds blurring together unnaturally. And, far too quick for his liking, his hand jumped to 'play' button as he almost passed the time aimed for.

Three seconds in and he was already ready to stop the most awkward show he had ever seen in his life.

He was now accustomed to the setting of it - even though this was a very different angle that it was seen at to the one he was used to. He knew the scene that it was at: the patch of pavement now too familiar to him. And the plot was known in less than a heartbeat. It was just bizarre watching himself as the main character.

Bizarre and uncomfortable watching himself, sitting still, back against the wall, his head resting on one of his shoulders. The lamppost just nearby, on the edge of the road, highlighted his sleeping figure, solitary in the empty street – with his sleeping bag flopping over and covering only everything below his hoodie-covered torso. His unshaven jaw told him that this wasn't too far into the time spent on that spot, as it only cast a small shadow on his face under the yellow glow. Moving his eyes to the date on the screen told him that this must have been about the third or fourth day of sitting there.

'_Which would make it a day or two after the robbery – and that would mean that this had nothing to do with the incident at all…'_

So why on Earth was she showing this to him? She actually thought that he would be interested in watching himself sleep? Some controversial way of reminding him of what he feels for Kay… Or perhaps guilt tripping him…

After a moment or so more of watching this show, he reached the conclusion that she was, in fact, crazy. _(That would explain why she wanted to help someone who had chosen to temporarily make himself homeless)_. He was about to press the button to stop the show – and decide what to say to her next time he saw her, as somehow he knew that directly _telling_ her she was crazy wouldn't exactly be the best approach. He took a final glance at the screen, sighing slightly at the sense of anti-climax, before moving his hand, ready to push eject.

Owen's breath caught as he froze suddenly, the sight in front of him making his heart stop right in its track.

His sleeping figure was no longer alone in the street. At ten fifteen at night, someone walked right into the little bit of lit pavement and into clear view of the camera.

The colour drained from Owen's face as he recognised the illumined girl. The soft yellow glow lit up her figure, the bags in her hand, her hair, her clothes and her face.

He watched her stop right in front of his own sleeping figure, her head turned upwards at the sign of the café. Ironic horror washed over his body as he realised that he had been right all along – perhaps she didn't come back specifically to remember, for the full bags looked like she was simply coming home from shopping… But she had stopped. She had looked up at that café. She was taking a moment to remember.

In the seconds that followed, sick adrenaline rushed through his veins as she stared up at the simple café sign; her face too far away for expression to be caught. One by one, the seconds passed by, as his heart thumped wildly in his ears, before her head moved again. He saw her hands burry inside her pickets as her head began to lower – seeming to slowly take in every part of the café.

He watched her eye line slide down the shining glad of the windows – slowly, slowly, inch by inch – before it levelled and stopped. The time on the screen made it a little too late for the lights inside of the café to be on; so, not much to see, her head didn't linger long at that point. He watched her calm figure move slightly, as he watched her head lower further, down past the glass…past the wood of the sill…past the bricks of the foundation… And stop.

Owen's heart banged louder and louder, trying to jump right out of his chest, his blood rushing through every vein, as her eye line reached ground level.

He watched her body stiffen slightly as her head moved to face his own sleeping figure. He watched her stop still and all aura of calm evaporate in a second as she looked right at him on the ground.

He watched her stand there, completely still, for a full, excruciating minute, before he watched her step forwards.

Only able to hear his heart's deafening banging as it frantically threw itself at his chest, desperate for escape from this moment. He watched her walk forward hesitantly to stop right in front of his sleeping self. He watched her crouch down at the foot of the sleeping bag. He watched her arm slowly extend to place her hand on the fabric, hovering still, just above, for a moment.

He watched it snap back. He watched her lit figure sharply stand up. He watched her remain there, frozen, for a second longer.

And he watched her run.

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**Right, proper explanation as to why this is in three parts:**

**I could come up with this whole metaphoric reason for splitting it up into three chapters "because the song is really in three stages of becoming stronger" or some crap like that. But, really, it's because I never know when to shut up with writing, and have ALWAYS had trouble with cutting down xP Personally I think it's much better in three parts, as there is much more emotion now (you'll really know what I mean in the upcoming scene xD) and I think it comes to a good, neat closure :)**

**So it was either that or end up with one, short, bullet-pointy and "just accept it because I said so" points, with loads of frayed ends xP Not so good.**

**That's also why it's taken me so long to write. I've basically been writing all three at once so I could post them in good time. The next one will come up either when my WONDERFUL beta has filtered it, or in a week (in case she's insane and filters it really quickly xP). **

**Till then, thank you so much for reading up to this! And hope you enjoy the rest :D**

**SPECIAL SPECIAL SPECIAL thanks goes to Aneko24. So much of this chapter is down to her ^^**

***shuts up now***

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**_Disclaimer:_**

**_I do not own The Script, their album or [sadly] any of their lyrics. I am just another fan that has been inspired._**


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